


World Changer

by Ariel_Riddle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Dark Universe, Alternate Dimension, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Changing History, F/M, First Time, Harmony - Freeform, Is Neville the Chosen One?, Meek Hermione, Potentially Dark Harry, Powerful Hermione, S&R:CRW, Smut, Strong Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 144,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Riddle/pseuds/Ariel_Riddle
Summary: Harry is a man broken and weighed down by regrets. He is past the point of caring, until one day he takes the opportunity to change his fate—blast the consequences.I've jumped through worlds for you, Hermione. You won’t be taken from me again.





	1. World Changer

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [CanonFixFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CanonFixFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Make Harmony happen by _any means necessary_. Can take it extremely au.
> 
> **Thank you, LeanaM and desbratty, for taking the time to Alpha/Beta and lend your brilliance to this story!**

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

He was a regular Mad-Eye-Moody.

With the loss of his leg, he was forced to rely heavily on his wooden crutch. He may still have both his eyes, but his eyesight was poor and scars marred his face. The resemblance to his former mentor was uncanny. Much like the Irish wizard, he was responsible for many of the occupied cells in Azkaban.

He sat behind an elegant rosewood desk, feeling rather silly and a bit useless.

There had been no Death Eater activity in quite some time...not since that fateful day.

Auror work was rather tame lately, with his latest case consisting of a pest scam where victims accused pest control companies of purposefully infecting their homes with Chizpurfles so magicfolk would be in desperate need of their services. A rather colossal waste of his time, in the grand scheme of things. But whenever there was something more serious that came up, it was usually Ron or Dean that took the call, making excuses that it would be better for him to stay at the Ministry in case things escalated. He loathed being told _he was better staying at the Ministry._

It wasn’t as if he was incapable of assisting.

No one had ever left Mad-Eye behind in the office!

He resented the fact that his debilitations left the impression he was somehow fragile.

There was hardly anything to do anymore, save going home to Ginny. Luckily for him, Ginny had quite the blossoming Quidditch career and could often be found away, but when she was home, she was exceedingly needy. He could do without her whining...her scorn...her revulsion towards him. He knew he was no longer the wizard he used to be, how could he forget when it was forever clear in Ginny’s eyes? He didn’t need the reminder—he gave himself quite enough grief! She was in need of things, things she no longer felt he could offer her. Because of that, bitterness had begun to permeate their relationship, settling in the pit of his stomach and doused by indifference.

He was beginning to care less and less.

Ever since that day - so long ago - that was when everything had changed, his entire outlook. He’d made a mistake - a terrible mistake! - and there was no way to rectify it.

It had only been three years, but it felt like an eternity. He was twenty-one back then, young and vibrant and still full of life.

Now, Harry lived in a permanent state of regret.

His leg, or rather, the ghost of his leg, throbbed and tingled up his knee and then further up his thigh. Taking a card from Malfoy, he took a deep sip of Firewhiskey, relishing in the fiery burn it left whilst sliding down his throat, regardless of being at work. He’d become all too used to the feeling as of late. It was the only thing to numb the constant pain. He missed the feeling of _wholeness._ These days he felt incomplete and lacking.

Harry ran a hand through unruly black hair. Caramel-colored eyes flashed through his mind.

_Her eyes._

They were open and honest and so heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

They reminded him of all his mistakes, all his maddening blunders. She had always been there for him...so fierce and passionate and brilliant...but when she needed him the most, he had failed her.

 _Hermione..._ so sweet and so innocent and _so gone._

**~oOo*oOo~**

Sunday found him having dinner at Cauldrons again.

Some of their friends were there, or rather, _her friends._

On the rare occasion Harry liked to go out, he would much rather Floo to Wiltshire and catch the Malfoy patriarch for a quiet drink. Somehow, over the past two years, he’d become something close to friends with his former nemesis. They shared the same dry, witty humor and it wasn’t so exhausting to endure the Slytherin’s company.

Harry’s lip curled at the sight of Lavender. Maybe it had been three years, but how could Ron stand being with her when he’d lost Hermione? How did Lavender even begin to compare? The witch was sweet enough, but she was shallow and vapid and she giggled far too much for Harry’s liking. It wore on his nerves in the most nails-on-the-chalkboard sort of way. That Ron could move on so effortlessly made Harry want to hurl. Perhaps they deserved one another.

“Did you hear, Harry?” Ginny’s voice effectively cut through his private musings. “Marcus’ whole team has been outfitted with the newest broom that hasn’t even hit stores yet.”

“Oh?” Harry couldn’t bring himself to be equally as excited.

Marcus nodded smugly. “The Silver Streak. It won’t be out to the public until next year.”

“Faster than the Firebolt?” Ron inquired, his arm thrown carelessly around Brown’s shoulders. “That I’d have to see.”

“180 miles an hour,” Ginny informed her brother enthusiastically. Then she turned to the rest of the table. “It has an extendable seat for extra cushioning.”

“You have to try it out, it’s one wild ride.” Flint flashed them another smile.

“Would that I could,” Harry muttered bitterly. He had tried to mount a broom multiple times since the altercation that had lost him his leg. There was something off with the balance. His left leg was now far too heavy and he had to tense his muscles just so in order to even it out. He hadn’t got the hang of it. It was too irritating to be confronted by all he’d lost.

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances, Flint having just realized his error.

Ginny’s smile faltered and she cleared her throat loudly. “Yes, well, you’ll get the hang of it again, eventually.”

Harry nodded. In fairness, she was right. He would simply have to learn how to fly despite his permanent injury. It was just taking longer than he might have liked. But he would probably never be able to ride a broom that went that fast.

Ginny smiled brightly and shifted her attention to Ron. “So what is it you said you wanted to tell us about?”

Ron smiled sheepishly, glancing around the table before ducking his head. “Just got a bit of news to tell you, that’s all.”

Lavender grinned from ear to ear and Harry became instantly weary.

“I’m expecting.” She beamed. “Ron and I are going to be parents!”

For a split second, Harry could swear he saw Ginny’s face twist in an expression that could only be described as envy, but it was gone in an instant. She plastered on a sickly sweet smile dripping with happiness for the couple. Harry tried not to scowl. He regretted not getting to know Ginny, truly getting to know her. At the time when they were teenagers, he had seen what he wanted to see, but now the scales had fallen from his eyes and he’d seen the real Ginny, the Ginny that had wanted to be Mrs. Ginevra Potter ever since second year. There had been signs, of course, but Harry had ignored them. It was always supposed to be Ron and Hermione and he and Ginny and now it was too late. Ron had never appreciated Hermione, had never deserved her, and he had moved on so effectively he was already having a kid with Hermione’s replacement.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel joy but mumbled the polite things he was supposed to say anyway.

Table talk resumed and Harry found himself tuning out automatically. It was just more of the same—Ginny and Flint laughing at some shared joke—were they fucking each other? Harry wouldn’t be exactly surprised if that was the case. Their own sex life had been lacking. Ginny had accused him of being too rough during sex and he couldn’t find it in him to fuck her any longer. The constant complaining had effectively nipped that desire in the bud.

The horcrux had warned him. It had told him things from its place around his neck. Harry had thought it evil before, manipulative and wrong, but maybe _he_ had been wrong. The horcrux had whispered vile things, seeing deep into his heart and registering his true feelings about Hermione before even he had admitted them to himself. It made him jealous of Ron and annoyed with Ginny’s antics. It had told him he would lose her, and at first he thought the horcrux had meant Ginny, but now he realized he knew the whole time that it had not.

His jaw throbbed painfully when he chewed,  a lingering effect of it being broken too many times. His whole body was always so wracked with pain, and he resented the fact that he’d have to endure this for the rest of his life, all because of some prophecy that had sprung up when he was a infant.

It was a dangerous shift in his line of thinking.

It was selfish for him to wish he hadn’t been burdened with saving the wizarding world. Things were as they were supposed to be, people had moved on, the Ministry was in better hands, and he should be pleased despite the personal losses he’d sustained. It hadn’t been a failure.

“Yes, let’s do, Harry!” Ginny pulled him from his thoughts.

“Do what?” he asked irritably.

“Go to the cinema, of course.” Her eyes narrowed. “With our friends.”

“Oh, I think I’ll pass. I actually made plans tonight.”

“What plans?” She barely kept the smile she wore attached to her face. “Plans with _Malfoy, again_?”

Her expression suggested an affirmative answer would be an act of aggression in itself.

“Yes, actually. I was going to stop by his manor this evening.”

"Harry?" Her barely there smile was strained, the tips of her ears turning red. "Can we speak privately?"

She hastily got up without looking to see if Harry would follow. His annoyance reaching new heights, he begrudgingly got up from his chair and followed after her, noticing the glances of pity he received from the occupants at the table.

When he hobbled up to her in the mostly vacant hall by the lavatories, he whirled on her. “What is it, Ginny?”

“I just wanted to know what’s gotten into you now. Can’t you see you’re making our friends uncomfortable?”

He scowled. “I’m not trying to.”

“Well you are. It’s you and this black cloud that’s following you.”

Harry averted his eyes, too stubborn to admit that Ginny was probably right. He was hardly useful to anyone, and not very good company.

“I just don’t get it, Harry.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You always want to stay home or get hammered with Malfoy. And when you are alone with me, you’re usually out of it from all the pain potions you take.” She paused to gain her breath, her eyes becoming more and more heated. “I do everything around the house. I cook and I clean, and you just want to stare off into space all day.”

Irritation flared hotly in his chest and he gestured to his stump. “I suggested we get permanant help after the accident.”

“That’s not the point!” Her chest was rising and falling in shallow pants. “We used to have fun and we never do anymore. I thought that surely by now we would have children, but it seems like you recoil anytime you brush against me. You blame everything on your accident, but Merlin - that was so long ago! I want someone around me _that loves me,_ and it hardly seems like you do, it hardly seems like you want to even be here anymore.”

Perhaps she was right. But the solution was allowing him space, couldn’t she see that? “If you’d only let me make my own decision-”

“Why? So you and the ferret can pine after my brother’s dead wife some more?”

He recoiled as if he’d been slapped. He may as well have. However trapped it made him feel, he could almost see the point of everything Ginny had to say, but when she’d said _that._ “What did you say?” His expression turned dark and dangerous.

“You heard me,” she said with a snarl. “Do you really think I never knew? Ron and I _both knew,_ and discussed the matter frequently. But you chose someone else, and now you are still thinking about her, even when she is long gone. Everyone else has moved on, and it’s time you did.”

“I can’t just move on when my best friend has died,” he stressed, his ire peaked. “Hermione was important to me, to us, and you guys act like she never existed.”

“She was just a girl, Harry, a regular girl we grew up with but like many others, died in the war.”

“You’re not half the witch that she was,” he spat cruelly, failing to keep control of his rapidly splintering temper.

Ginny grinned as if she were the cat that got the cream. “I knew you had feelings for her. How _pathetic._ I wish you would have saved us all trouble and just told her how you felt from the start. Look at you,” she motioned to his person, “you’re hardly a man anymore. The war has ruined you and now you are trying to bring me down with you.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He was broken and decrepit and his heart was in ruins. Ginny was right and she knew it.

“Go ahead and go to Malfoy’s,” she said, turning away from him. “I’ll make excuses for you.”

It was too much. He had no control over anything - not over any aspect of his life. He couldn’t deal with her incessant screaming, she was driving him stark-raving mad! How could he spend the rest of his life with her? He didn’t fancy being talked to in such a way, to have to walk on eggshells in his own house, but it seemed as though he couldn’t even act anymore unless he had her permission. He was _stuck._

He headed for the sidewalk, Apparating on the spot for the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place. Ginny got her way and he was in no mood to consult with even Malfoy that evening, her permission had effectively destroyed his desire to do so.

**~oOo*oOo~**

He slept in one of the spare rooms on the Third Floor, falling into a deep whiskey-induced sleep.

Like so many nights before, he dreamed of that night in Lestrange Manor.

When he woke up, panting for breath, it was still dark out.

How had everything gone to shit?

Would that he could use a Time-Turner and go back and change things.

The intel they had received, shortly after the war, on Rabastan Lestrange’s whereabouts had led them - impossibly - to Lestrange Manor. Harry couldn’t believe their good fortune, it was supposed to have been an easy mission.

_“Tell me why I can’t simply Avada the man on sight, ‘Mione?”_

_She sighed and glanced at him with a half-smirk. “Because, as I’ve told you, he has an artifact we are quite keen on retrieving, and Aurors are not supposed to use such curses anyhow.”_

_“Must be pretty important if an Unspeakable is worried about it,” Ron told her._

_“It is, Ronald. If Lestrange activates the chalice, it can have dastardly effects on the world as we know it.”_

Harry could still remember the way Ron had dismissed Hermione’s concerns, assuring her that he and Harry would take care of everything and why didn’t she go look for wedding dresses with Ginny? Hurt had flashed through her eyes very briefly, and Harry had considered saying something, but he hadn’t. Ron often hurt Hermione by saying such thoughtless things. Harry could kick himself now that he hadn’t called the wizard out each and every time he had done so. Hermione was not a witch to be shrugged off.

They had been too pompous, too sure in their own capabilities. Their egos had grown rather large since being heralded heroes of the wizarding world only a few years prior. Lestrange was the last of the Death Eaters, and once they captured him, they could put the miserable war behind them.

But Lestrange had not made the task easy on them.

They were immediately assaulted with traps upon entering his manor. He’d seemed to be expecting intruders, and he was prepared to meet them. Harry was too busy fending off the unexpected attacks to see the onslaught of dark curses coming, to know that this would be the turning point and the day he regretted more than any other. The dark hex severed off his leg, immediately. It stumped him so effectively, his eyes looking on unbelievably to the severed appendage and he only half-heartedly threw up a shield to stave off the rest of the wizard’s attack. He cast a tourniquet charm on his knee and absently recalled seeing Hermione run across the room, straight towards Lestrange and deftly evading the traps at the entrance.

Her eyes had been set on the ritual the Death Eater had been about to perform. Lights were lit in sconces lining the platform that housed a goblet of sorts. Lestrange was too busy sending curses  sizzling angrily through the air to immediately notice Hermione’s slight form as it darted behind him in a blur, her goal set on capturing the cup. When she did get her hands on it, she wrapped it carefully in her jacket, not touching the polished metal with her bare fingers. It was only something Harry recalled vaguely, but then back up had arrived. Ron had signaled reinforcements and Lestrange was becoming overwhelmed.

Harry had crawled across the room, unused to the feeling of being without a leg, and the meaning of the loss not even dawning on him yet. Hermione needed his help and he felt compelled to go to her. She needed him and what she was doing was important. He ducked around curses and hexes that were flying through the air from both sides, his goal only on reaching Hermione.

_“Harry!” Her eyes shrilled with terror at the sight of him, momentarily forgetting her precious package wrapped in her arms as she ran towards them. “Oh, gods, what has he done?”_

_She reached for her wand, flicking a series of spells over him and Harry felt his pain lessen._

_“No,” he told her decisively, casting a strong shield around them. “I need to get you out of here. You have the cup and we need to get to safety. Ron can handle him with the rest of the Aurors.” It was hard to speak, hard to breathe, hard to gain a footing in reality._

_With single-minded focus, he reached for Hermione, who looked at him sadly, her eyes holding wisdom that was well beyond both of their years combined. “We need to destroy it. If nothing else, we at least need to do that.”_

_“Vanish it.”_

_“Harry, this is a_ World Changer _, it can’t be simply vanished.” She swallowed convulsively, honey eyes filled with concern and love. “Harry, I-”_

_Her words were cut off by a particularly strong series of well-aimed slicing charms that severed through his shield like butter. Hermione gasped and held up her wrists in confusion, watching in shock as blood curled around her forearms and dripped to her elbows. She was riddled with slices, deep cuts, and when Harry made to raise his wand, he found that he was too. He could no longer see out of one eye._

_“Ron,” he gurgled, blood clogging his throat. “Get Hermione to St. Mungo’s NOW.”_

_She shook her head, grabbing Harry’s hand and attempting desperately to speak. “You must promise me something.”_

_Harry could hardly focus on her words, through the pain and the blurred vision and the ringing in his ears. Where had his wand gone? How was Lestrange still upright and dueling four wizards at the same time? He became distantly aware of stone statues - gargoyles - moving along the manor and attacking the four Aurors. They needed more men!_

_“Promise me, Harry!”_

_“What!”_ Anything _, he screamed in his mind._

_She handed him the wrapped cup, now drenched in her blood. “You must find a way to destroy this, and never use it! I don’t care how tempting it is to try, you must never do it!”_

_His fingers scraped against familiar holly wood. Her words streaked across his brain in a jumbled mess—nothing made sense! “Vulnera Sanentur,” he said desperately, swallowing against the pain that was assaulting his body. The healing spell worked slowly to seam together the wounds she had sustained, but there had been so much blood lost! Her eyes fluttered shut before opening and refocusing. So many feelings swam in her eyes as she captured his gaze with hers, weak and sluggish. So many things left unsaid._

_“In another life...maybe...but no, Harry...never.”_

_Incoherent ramblings he had initially dismissed, so focused on healing her as he was._

_“Please, don’t die on me, ‘Mione.”_

_But she was wavering and he didn’t know the right spells, and his strength was faltering. She was slipping._

_“Hermione!”_

_This time when her eyes closed, they did not reopen._

_In a blind rage of fury, he let his magic sizzle through him and focused it angrily on Lestrange. “Avada Kedavra!”_

_The electrifying green light lit up the dim manor, momentarily surprising the Aurors that stood fighting as it shot past them and straight to his target. His first ever Avada, and it teared at his very soul. Brokenhearted and beyond weak, he had collapsed to the floor, unaware of how changed the world would be when he awoke._

“In another life,” he said aloud, getting up and sitting in the chair that stood by a chest. “What did you mean, Hermione?”

He’d replayed the words many times. She had made him promise to destroy the cup, that had seemed to be her life’s mission, and he had _tried,_ but damn if it wasn’t impossible to do!

He regretted not telling her how he felt, how he’d felt for years, for in the moment that she had faded in his arms, he had realized it beyond a shadow of a doubt—it was only she that caused his heart to stutter in his chest...that caused his lips to twist in a genuine smile...a true laugh to wrench from his throat...love to bloom in his heart. She was the one witch he wanted, and now he couldn’t have her, and wasn’t that just painfully ironic?

She was all the good in him, and without her there was nothing much left.

His expression turned dark and contemplative.

Moving towards the chest, he cast the unlocking spell and reached in for the jacket that still housed the cup he never destroyed. He pressed the jacket up to his face, even though it was dry and crusted over with blood, trying to recapture the memory of her scent.

_“Harry,” Ron said with wide eyes. “You’re in a bad way.”_

_“Obviously, Ron.”_

_“And Her-,” he swallowed rapidly. “‘Mione’s cup?”_

_“It’s destroyed,” he lied._

Though why he had done so alluded him. He had every intention of destroying it as he promised but when he’d failed, what had stopped him from turning it in...concern that he would be held accountable for lying about it in the first place? Still, it had been his duty and he had wanted to take care of it.

But now…

...But now he felt... _differently._

“Hermione,” he spoke aloud, the dark inflection of his tone sounding unfamiliar on his tongue. “You said it changes worlds...what if I want my world to change?”

He thought back to how Lestrange had set up a ritual before he intended to use the cup. Really, Harry did not know how to use it even if he wanted to. Hermione’s research on the subject had vanished from her office upon her death. All he knew was that she was wary of pressing her flesh up against the metal.

The promise he made her streaked across his brain, but the temptation to try and to somehow discover the power of the seemingly harmless cup and learn to harness it was far too great. He was a broken failure, he may as well be an oath-breaker too.

The need for her eclipsed the pain of breaking his promise, and only made the hole in his heart all the more prevalent.

“You made me promise, lovely, but you left me.” He ripped the jacket from the cup and stared at the elusive goblet as it sat in his lap, puzzling over its power. “I’m sorry,” he said as he flexed his fingers over the cup - the _World Changer_ \- for the first time. “If you’re a World Changer,” he smirked, the taste of the whiskey he had over-consumed still fresh on his tongue. “ _Change my world._ ”

It was instantaneous.

His words coupled with his fingers on the cup seemed to galvanize its power into action, and he was suddenly swept up in a bright, shockingly yellow light. The light was so bright, it shone through his tightly closed eyes, ripping and tearing at his body as a cacophony of sound erupted around him.

He was stunned as he gripped the cup before it flew from his hands and then he was grasping at air. He hadn’t expected anything to happen—not really—and here something definitely was. He had a moment of panic as he wondered if he should have tried to research more, find out what exactly he was supposed to do to influence the change instead of letting it take him blindly.

He was helpless and that was bad!

His body shifted through something foreign - like a dimension he couldn’t fathom - and then he was catapulting through light and sound. His body felt disconnected from his mind, somehow he was aware of his soul flying, morphing, changing before exploding into something hard and solid and _whole._

The ground was spinning impossibly fast and he felt nauseous but he forced his eyes open anyway, his vision clearing sharply as his gaze clashed with honey-colored eyes.

“Harry?”

**~oOo*oOo~**

  



	2. Another World

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione slung her bag further over her shoulder as she walked, acutely aware of her surroundings as she scanned the dark halls for any sort of threat.

Should any of her oppressors be hiding in shadowed alcoves, she would be ready for them. She tucked a renegade curl behind her ear, clenching her jaw and her wand for good measure. Hermione was so completely tired of having to be on her guard all of the time, but it was necessary. Seventh year had thus far proven to be a horror and the threat of all out war loomed heavily in the halls of Hogwarts.

She tried to pull strength - to pull hope - from wherever she could, but the bits of information she received from the resistance were like cookie crumbles—scattered and impossibly difficult to find. If only she had left with Neville and Susan and Luna. She had never been so very close with them, but they had the same goal in mind and surely that was grounds to work together, if only she'd been brave enough. _Anything would be an improvement_ , she mused. _Hogwarts is not a safe place for a Muggle-born._

Briefly, the idea of escaping to the Muggle world passed through her mind. It was tempting, the lure of anonymity and relative safety. Surely she could find some suitable job to do. She was seventeen and of age. Perhaps she didn't have the necessary Muggle education, but it shouldn't be so very hard to forge that sort of thing. But could she assimilate to a world she had left when she was eleven? And the idea of restricting herself from using magic made her heart clench in despair. To say nothing of the fact that the troubles of the wizarding world were bleeding into that of the Muggle world like an encroaching plague.

Not that she was using much magic now.

Really, the DA, during fifth year, had been her only opportunity to broaden her magical horizons. There, under Neville's tutelage, she had been able to to truly understand the depth of the magic she possessed and how best to flex it. Putting her unrestrained magic to use had been truly beautiful. Before, she'd had no idea of just how good it felt to wield such magic. Now that she knew and she longed for that feeling again. That was how school was supposed to be, but her learning had grown regrettably stagnant.

She rounded the corner of the second floor stairwell, hope surging in her chest. Perhaps she would reach her destination free of any run-ins. But she would then have to navigate through the rowdy Gryffindor Common Room and hope that no one brought attention to her there.

She yelped as she tripped over something large and solid.

_What in the name of Merlin?_

Fear pounded at her temples as she took a glance around, and then looked at the body lying helplessly on the floor.

_Was that…?_

She dropped to her knees instantly. The wizard's chest wasn't rising and falling and Hermione knew she had to do something. Her fingers were shaking, but she reached out tentatively to move the hair shrouding his forehead aside so that she might identify the person.

As soon as she touched him, his eyes flew open and he gasped for air. She lurched back as if burned. "Harry?"

Eyes the color of all the worst sort of curses stared back at her, unblinking and somehow disbelieving.

"I mean, Potter," she amended, hurriedly scooting away from him. And her hands scrambling for the wand she had dropped as she felt her prior dread intensify. She looked away, unable to keep eye contact. "Are you okay?"

Every fibre in her body screamed at her to make a run for it, but the Gryffindor in her wanted desperately to ensure her housemate was alright. He was looking at her so strangely, and then he did something that truly shocked her.

" _Hermione_?" Her name came out like a supplication, so bizarre coming from his lips, and then he sat up quicker than lightning, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms. "Hermione," he said again, as she became swept up in his fierce embrace. "It's really you."

Her stomach dropped and her body froze over. She knew she should push him away - it was clearly _some joke -_ but she couldn't move.

Potter, who never called her by her first name, had very seldom even addressed her by anything save some cruel nickname, had just called her by her first name not once— _but twice?_ And now he was hugging her? Was this some sort of insane dream?

Catching herself, she finally did what she should have done right away, and pushed him away as she wrenched out of his grasp, getting hastily to her feet and taking several steps away from him.

"Potter," she tried again, exhaling a shaky breath. "Are you alright?" She shifted on her feet nervously. "Have you hit your head or something?"

When she did draw up the courage to look at him, his eyes - those startling green eyes - roved over her, glowing strangely in something like bright hunger. Her nerves suddenly found themselves on high alert for an entirely different reason.

She was sure she'd never seen Harry bloody Potter cast her that sort of look before. She didn't even think she'd seen him give it to _anyone._ The closest comparison she could manage was when he'd performed a complicated bit of magic. It was that kind of look but much more intense, and it made no sense coming from him.

"Maybe," he answered softly. "Are you alright?"

The earlier confusion assaulted her again. What was he playing at? Was it some kind of game she could not understand?

"I'm fine." If her stance had become defensive, she hoped he didn't notice. It would be better to take him by surprise should she need to.

His eyes were transfixed on her and his expression was faintly sorrowful. "I'm glad."

He got carefully to his feet, somewhat gingerly, with stiff movements, as if prepared for pain and discomfort. His eyes widened in shock before traveling down to his own feet. And he just stared. She was not prepared when he looked up at her again - looked at her as if he knew her! - and it was bloody off-putting. His gaze was swimming with questions and she could not even fathom what he would want to say to her.

Fortunately, she was saved from hearing it.

"Harry?" a voice called, the mere sound of it grating to Hermione's nerves.

Or perhaps unfortunately.

The sound of that familiar voice sent terror searing through her. That particular voice was never found without company, and the arrival of her tormentors reminded her that she was supposed to be on alert, but she had faltered, and now she was trapped. Frightened, she looked back up at Potter, who had never taken his eyes off of her. She couldn't keep the appeal from her gaze, the silent plea, even though pleading to Potter was an exercise in futility. Still, something foreign and sure possessed her to do so, and she could do nothing but hope she hadn't made a mistake in stopping to help the wizard.

**~oOo*oOo~**

He was _whole._

So incredibly whole it was overloading his senses.

How long had it been since he'd felt like this? Magic prickled across his skin, waiting to be called upon.

He was _powerful_.

He could tell instantly what a difference it made that he possessed all of his limbs and his magic could course through him freely. His vision was so startlingly clear and completely unhindered. In a moment of shock, he realized he wasn't even wearing glasses and he could see impossibly clearly. He stood taller, too. Perhaps it was just an inch or two, but it was noticeable, and it was glorious to possess such a capable body after being trapped for four years in one that was broken.

But even better than all that, _she_ was whole _._

Whole and alive and so shockingly beautiful he could not keep from staring. She looked as he'd seen her last except slightly younger. It was too perfect.

Or it would have been perfect if she hadn't have been looking at him like he was her enemy.

For never in his memory had he recalled Hermione Granger ever looking at him that way, with something close to fear burning in her eyes. It was unwelcoming and quite disconcerting. Hermione was _his girl,_ the girl that would do anything for him. It had been nothing short of tragic that he hadn't pursued her before it was too late.

He was only dimly aware of his surroundings, the stone corridor indicating he was somehow at Hogwarts but the why and the how and the when was eluding him. Something was wrong for her to be looking at him like that, like they were not _best friends,_ and—if he had any say—future lovers. The situation was entirely too bizarre, but he instantly ruled out the possibility of this being some sort of surreal dream—his mind would never conjur something up like this. It wasn't some sort of prank either, no, this was a direct result of using the World Changer. It came to him with sudden clarity. This was not the Hogwarts he knew. He had not simply traveled back, the World Changer had brought him somewhere else entirely and in a cruel twist of fate, it would appear this Hermione Granger held no love for him.

 _Yet_.

It didn't really matter. He was whole and she was whole and that was all he really needed. The rest he could work on. Was he not a competent wizard? He'd tackled many problems in his life and he had a knack for solving them. This one would be no different.

When he'd opened his eyes to see an alive Hermione staring down at him, a feeling of insurmountable joy had spread through his entire body, making him feel as if he were as light as air and could possibly float away. It was such an odd feeling. Before, his heart had sat in his chest like a heavy stone, pinning him to the world he so deplored because it was a world without her. Now things were light and blessedly different and really just _perfect._

"Harry?"

The light feeling abruptly vanished at the sound of the feminine voice calling his name. He glanced down the corridor and then flicked his gaze back to Hermione who was looking at him beseechingly, almost imploring him with her eyes alone. For the first time since his arrival in this new and different place, trepidation seeped into his bones.

The voice had called his name with an air of familiarity, with an almost possessiveness, and Harry cursed inwardly as he imagined who it belonged to.

It would be Ginny, of course. He couldn't escape her in any life and it stood to reason he wouldn't be able to escape her in this one.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor, footsteps accompanying more footsteps, and the feeling of dread intensified. He didn't know what was going on or how he should react to the situation. He had no idea how he could play off his ignorance. It would take some serious improvisation to pull this off. How could he keep the distaste from his face when coming into contact with Ginny once again?

But it was not Ginny who rounded the corner.

"There you are, Harry," said Pansy Parkinson who inexplicably greeted him with a sultry smile, making short work of striding confidently to his side and looping her arm through his.

Yes, he definitely was taller. The witch was, for some unknown reason, wearing heels and a dress under her Hogwarts robes - Slytherin, he noted - and he was still a good two inches taller than her.

"I've been looking for you everywhere." She pouted her lips prettily and Harry noticed the light makeup she had applied perfectly to her face. Harry had never thought Parkinson especially beautiful, but then she had never said anything to him without snarling. This version of Parkinson was actually quite stunning. And she was clinging to him greedily, as if she owned him.

His prior concern magnified.

"Here I am," he ventured flippantly, forcing his body to remain calm and sure, though he had the strongest urge to run for it.

"Were you planning on skipping dinner?" She looked up at him inquisitively. "You need only tell me. We don't want to keep people waiting."

Harry glanced up at Hermione, who was watching the scene with barely suppressed fear, a sight so uncommon on her pretty face it made him want to retch.

It had been a mistake to take his attention away from Parkinson, for in that moment, the Slytherin witch seemed to take notice of Hermione for the first time. "What are you doing just standing there, Mudblood?"

Harry tensed at the use of such a crass word, one he hadn't heard since the wizarding war.

"Come to provide us with entertainment, have you?" Pansy smirked back at her friends and Harry noticed who had accompanied her for the first time.

It was Brown and Greengrass, and they were dressed nearly identical to Parkinson, only Brown stuck out a bit in her Gryffindor robes. All three witches were dolled up as if they expected to be photographed for _Witch Weekly_ at a moment's notice _._ It was all very odd, and Harry's mind worked frantically to figure out how best to react to the situation. Apparently this version of Harry kept friends with the opposite sort of people than he had been used to. How would he ever be able to keep up a pretense of normalcy? He would be hardpressed to do so, but currently his focus was on the potentially threatening situation in front of him and how best to diffuse it.

There was malice in the three witches' eyes as they stared at Hermione, for whatever reason, and Harry knew it was up to him to avoid it. But how best to do so without arousing suspicion?

"She was just leaving," Harry said smoothly, anchoring his hand around Parkinson's waist and feeling her relax into his grip. "As are we. I'm quite ready for dinner now."

Parkinson's gaze lingered on her prey for just a moment before Hermione was jolted into action and hurried away from the corridor.

"Hmph." Parkinson tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "If that's what you want to do, Harry. You know I'm game for anything."

She was smiling at him again, and Harry knew he had to return it, despite how much it made his stomach clench in nausea. He needed to play this game, for now, just long enough to discover who these people were and who he was. The rest could come later.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The Great Hall was teeming with people.

It was almost sensory overload for Harry.

The entire walk to dinner had been laden with one surprise after another. It would seem he was popular— _really popular._ Not only that, but house unity was alive and thriving.

That could almost be construed as a positive if it wasn't for the glaringly obvious blood status issue. It appeared Pureblood mania was at an all-time high in whatever universe Harry found himself in. Blood purity was front and center. He was able to discern this just by the sheer number of times he heard 'Mudblood' uttered in the hall or seen a random hex fly through the corridor without anyone so much as blinking. It really was the last thing Harry wanted to deal with. Apparently Half-Bloods were alright, or at least he was, but being a Muggle-born came with inherent hatred shared by seemingly the entire school body. Not even a passing teacher seemed concern with the behavior some students were displaying.

It would explain why Hermione had been treated so viciously.

That was a hurdle that would be difficult to jump. It had taken years to alter people's perception on Muggle-borns, but progress had definitely been made in Harry's world. Here it seemed they had taken a step back a few generations. As far as he could gather, Muggle-borns dealt with a tremendous amount of hate at Hogwarts.

Upon arriving at the Great Hall, Harry had wrongfully assumed he would get a blessed reprieve from Parkinson, but she had steered him away from the Gryffindor table and towards the loud and boisterous Slytherin table, where the group was being enthusiastically waved over. He reluctantly followed, finding that the table occupants gathered in the center were quick to make room for them.

Brown briskly made her way over to Ron where she perched happily on his lap. Apparently he could not escape the couple in this universe either. Ron was engaged in a heated conversation with Zabini and Dean, something about Quidditch, but he stopped to nod at Harry when he took his seat next to Parkinson who had yet to relinquish her grasp from his arm. He was surprised to find Macmillan, Nott and Malfoy sitting with the group as well, although Malfoy's presence made sense at least. Ginny was sidled up cozily next to Blaise and Harry had to fight to keep the surprise from his face, much less suppress the recoil upon seeing the witch who was the spitting image of the other three girls who had retrieved him.

His classmates were largely the same, but somehow different. It was in little subtleties like the way in which they styled their hair, wore their clothes, and the way they spoke. It was so overwhelmingly off-putting, Harry could hardly keep up the guise of blending in. He had to constantly remind himself to clamp his mouth shut lest he be found to be staring.

"The Magpies are going to smash the Cannons," Malfoy said challengingly, a gleam in his eye. "They don't stand a chance in the Cup."

"They won't either," Ron promised valiantly. "The Cannons are going to take them by surprise. The Magpies have far too big an ego. They'll be shut down."

As the wizards continued arguing, Harry could not help but be struck by how surreal the situation was. Such normal conversations, it could almost be preferential to how it was where he came from, but Hermione was not with them, and that was wrong. Where was she? He was unable to find her after scanning the Gryffindor table, so where was she taking her meals? Did she avoid the crowds and eat in the dorms, or did she go straight to the kitchens? Harry resisted every urge to get up from his seat and seek her out. The most important thing to do for now was to lay low and gather as much information as he could.

Alarm flooded through him when he saw Alecto Carrow walking just past him on the other side of the table. What the bloody hell was she doing here? Were the fates so cruel as to place him back into a Death Eater controlled Hogwarts? Would he find the detested Umbridge to be Headmistress? It would be almost unbearable.

"Harry," Parkinson said beside him, an expression of concern etched on her face. "You're not eating. I thought you said you were hungry?"

"I am." He reached for the tray of ham and selected pieces to put on his plate. "Just a bit tired is all."

He wondered if the excuse would fly with his… whatever she was. Girlfriend, maybe? He wondered how he would ever figure everything out. One misstep could be fatal. He couldn't muck up his chances at happiness as he had done the last time around.

"Harry?"

"Par-," he faltered, remembering himself. "Pansy," he returned as lightly as he could manage.

"If this is about the meeting…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"The meeting?" he prodded, hoping she would give him more information to go on.

"Well I know you have been thinking about little else." She raised her delicately arched brows. "You even passed up an opportunity to hex little-Miss-Mudblood herself."

Bile rose in his throat.

"It's clear the appointment is forefront on your mind."

Whatever this meeting was that Parkinson spoke of, he couldn't help the tendrils of dread that stretched through him as he tried to guess what she was referring to. He didn't know what to do. She was so different from the women he was used to. Where Ginny had been hot, red fury, Parkinson was patient and cold as ice, and much more dangerous. He would need to figure out a way to interact with her - and fast - without ousting himself.

"You're right...as always," he added as an afterthought, content to find her features soften at the statement. "The...meeting has been on my mind." Calling on his inner stealth, he searched for the correct thing to say. "Perhaps you can help me...prepare for it?"

She gave him a knowing smirk. "We'll prepare for it together."

 _How cryptic,_ he thought dejectedly. Now he had something else to worry about in addition to everything he'd been plunged into.

"What a total nutter." Dean gestured to the paper and then glanced around at his friends. "Breaking into homes and trying to outsmart snatchers."

"He's gone buggering mad," Malfoy said decisively, earning several nods and murmurs of agreement among the group.

Ron shook his head disbelievingly. "Can't believe he was sorted in the same house with us." He looked to Dean and then Harry. "That we'd even been friendly to him, at first."

"Who?" Harry could not help but ask.

A multitude of eyes turned his way and Harry became instantly wary with all the attention on him. Apparently, that had been a curious thing to say.

Dean turned his paper around in answer. Harry could clearly make out the picture of Neville, Undesirable number one scrawled underneath it.

So Neville was the Chosen One in this timeline. And they _were_ in a Death Eater controlled Hogwarts. There was no doubt in Harry's mind, now. Likely Snape was Headmaster. Only in this universe, things had gotten much worse in the realm of blood purity than it had when the Death Eater's had taken control of Hogwarts in his timeline.

"Oh," Harry said with false confidence. "Of course."

The shock of Neville being the Chosen One was hard to ignore.

Harry had carried that burden since the age of eleven. He had endured the trials and hardships that came with being the Savior of the Wizarding World. Now it suddenly was no longer his responsibility to carry. Instinctively, his first reaction was to see how he could offer his help to Neville. He'd been through it before, surely there would be some similarities. But a larger part of him, one bitter and weary of the twists of fate, wanted to stay clear of any of it.

That was not to be his goal this time.

He'd put the war as his main priority the last time, but this time he was focused squarely on Hermione and taking care of her.

Whatever was good for her would be the course he chose. Right now, the best option seemed to be kidnapping Hermione and taking her somewhere safe while the events Harry knew so well played out. But it was so odd, so different this time around. There was a complacency with the student body that hadn't been there before. Vaguely, Harry wondered how long the wizarding community had been dealing with the threat of war, and how long they had been fighting.

"Cheer up, mate."

Harry fought a recoil and tensed as he felt Malfoy clap his hands down on his shoulders behind him.

Malfoy's next question was addressed to Parkinson. "What's got into him?"

She gave a flippant shrug.

"You're a bit more broody than usual," Malfoy observed. "I know what you need."

Harry begrudgingly looked to his left as Malfoy made a seat for himself beside him and retrieved a couple of vials from his robes.

"I got your herbs." Malfoy winked before handing Harry the vials.

Harry reluctantly accepted them. "Thanks, er...what is it?"

"Just the usual." Malfoy frowned. "But I did throw in something extra special—Lepidium. My father got it from the Chinese Minister."

"What's it do?" Parkinson asked for him.

"Befuddlement Draught with a twist—it's a natural aphrodisiac." Malfoy grinned wickedly at them. "Have fun kids."

 _Wonderful,_ Harry mused. _In addition to being a cruelly twisted person, I'm apparently a drug addict as well._

Harry wanted to cast the vials aside. He knew all too well how easy it was to develop a habit on potions. This body was young, and able, and he would not be crippling it by feeding into an addiction he didn't need.

He wanted desperately to escape the stifling Great Hall and the boisterous crowd surrounding him. He needed to take stock of things, figure out more about this strange world and his surprising new set of friends. He needed to make sure he didn't lose Hermione. This was all for her, after all, even if she wasn't exactly the same Hermione, even if the Hermione he knew had made him promise not to do what he'd done. Regardless of all of that he needed to enact his plan with single-minded focus.

_I've jumped through worlds for you, Hermione. You won't be taken from me again._

**~oOo*oOo~**


	3. Who is Harry James Potter?

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

The familiar feeling of hovering in the air over a powerful broom momentarily stunned him. Ever since waking up in the Gryffindor dorms that morning, he'd been struck with the strangeness - the surrealness - of what had happened.

Harry had half expected for it all to have been some whiskey-induced dream. The shock of yesterday had dulled, and left in its wake a bizarre, edgy feeling. But he was now whole and his vision clear and Hermione was still alive—it was almost too much to even hope for.

To have had the chalice - the _World Changer_ \- in his possession all this time and not to have used its power...it could almost be construed as stupid. The old adage 'with great risk came great reward' proved true in this situation. Hermione, whom he would always listen to without question, had advised against it, had claimed it to be too great of a risk, but Harry had always been more of a gambler—a Gryffindor through and through. His brashness was often his downfall and something he would need to remember whilst in this world, but he certainly couldn't fault himself for the move he made...at least not yet.

He had lain awake the night before, attempting desperately to come up with some plan. Thus far, his only defense had been to run with the punches and adjust to whatever situation he found himself in, but that would hardly work forever. Eventually he would be asked something he didn't know the answer to, or slip up somewhere. He couldn't just drop the friends that knew him best, or his girlfriend, without inciting suspicion. Everything was so unfamiliar - so _foreign_ \- even his body. He'd have to adopt some traits from his rival house to pull off a deception like this—some Slytherin cunning.

Normally it would be Hermione that would come up with the plan. She would undoubtedly do the research and figure out the hierarchy within a fortnight. She would know who was in power, what pertinent battles had taken place, the turning point in the war, any changes to the wizarding system...she would make it her business to find out everything. If only he could use her genius! But Hermione was no resource to be used. She was a person and she was his reason for being here. He may not have a plan where he was concerned, but he knew exactly what to do when it came to her.

Patience.

However long it took to persuade Hermione his intentions towards her had changed, or rather, were changing, for her to see him in a potentially new light—that was his goal. It wouldn't be the easiest job in the world, what with outside influences raising the stakes, but he would deal with that. There was no point rushing it, she would only see him as a monster. He would take his time getting to know this version of Hermione and getting her to trust him as _his Hermione_ had.

A blast of sound brought him back to the present and made him distantly aware of the crowd screaming in the Quidditch stands.

"Don't go easy on Malfoy just because he's your chum," Ron said with thinly disguised jealousy.

"Yeah." Dean nodded in agreement. "Slytherin has won the Cup three years in a row. They hardly need another year to their record."

"Of course." Harry dipped forward on his broom and took his place on the field.

Apparently Slytherin House was quite successful in winning the House Cup each year. Harry could only hope that he would be able to keep up with the seemingly abundant discrepancies and not oust himself in the process.

He still played Seeker, of which he was grateful, so he was able to hang back for a brief moment and view the spectacle that was this world's version of Quidditch. It was so rife with fouls and violence that if Harry couldn't help but keep glancing at Madam Hooch to check if she'd been confounded. The game was bloody vicious.

The Chasers were intentionally blatching, Demelza seeming to be playing chicken with Vaisey. When Ritchie did get the Quaffle into Slytherin's goal hoop, as Davis was busy fending off a rapidly approaching spell, Ritchie guided the ball with his hand all the way—in the most glaringly obvious cheat Harry had bore witness to. The amount of clobbing Harry was seeing was staggering, elbows were flying faster than the spells were through the air. It was the 1473 Quidditch World Cup all over again—were they going for a record to see how many fouls they could commit in one game?

Harry only just saw Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, wand trained on his person and poised to strike. He had seconds to reach for his own wand and divert a befuddlement spell before it hit him square in the head.

"Sorry, mate," Malfoy said with a twist of his lips before racing off.

It was madness!

Harry was sure he'd never witnessed such a cutthroat game of Quidditch. He became even more wary of his supposed friends, who could foul each other one minute and share a cordial lunch another.

Determined to ignore the confusing feelings for now, he instead decided to steer his focus back to the game. His vision was clear and unobstructed. His legs were toned and tensed for action. Even his reflexes were sharper than he ever remembered them being. He still had the instincts and reflexes he'd always boasted of when he had played Quidditch, but in addition to that he also had heightened senses he developed after his injuries.

He caught sight of the Snitch immediately.

Wasting no time, he surged forward on his Firebolt, eyes trained on the flash of gold that whizzed through the air. He knew the instant that Malfoy became aware Harry was on the Snitch's trail. On impulse, he cut sharply to the right in order to dodge the curse he knew was heading for him. _How odd,_ he mused. _In this game, you have to hold on to your broom and your wand. The stakes are actually much higher._

Fingers enclosing tightly around his wand, he turned for just a split second - long enough to see Malfoy's eyes widen in surprise - to hurl a Transfiguration Spell at the Slytherin's broom, not even waiting to see it begin to transform the wood into a softer, floppier, material. Malfoy's became swept up in trying to reverse the spell before it crept up his broom and he fell off of it completely.

Satisfied, Harry pushed his heels together and sped as fast as he could as he followed the path of the Snitch, gaining momentum. All around him, the game was in full effect, and Harry was careful to avoid the other players whilst dodging wayward Bludgers.

A voice swept over the field, "Potter's seen the Snitch...he is now on the trail of the Snitch!"

Chaos ensued. It seemed that Slytherin players were ditching their posts just so they might block his path, but luckily for him, his Gryffindor teammates did not make this easy.

Adrenaline throbbing at his temples, he passed through the madness, only barely weaving in and out of danger, before he was right upon the Snitch. Against his better judgement, he hastily thrust his wand back into it's holster and with his free hand reached out to grab it.

When the announcer called the game for Gryffindor, cheers erupted in the stands.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione sat quietly a few rows back in the Gryffindor stands. The match was lively and the arena was loud so she did not worry about anyone paying her any attention. Attending these games provided her the only sense of escape she could rely on having, and thus she never missed a game.

Even if Quidditch was a decidedly horrid sport.

She'd once written a two foot parchment on what a dangerous sport Quidditch was, detailing how some students sustained heavy injuries that were not completely healable, to say nothing of the professional players who even sustained fatalities. It hadn't been a very popular assignment in her History of Magic class, but it was an important topic to cover, in her opinion. A lot less controversial than covering house elf abuse had been.

This particular Quidditch game had been no different in the realm of danger. It was difficult to stay calm under such stressful conditions, but she supposed that's why the matches were so popular—because they gave viewers a much sought after adrenaline rush. All she required was a chaotic crowd she could get lost in. She could do without the pounding headache she got whenever she saw players interacting in such perilous ways, though why she would be concerned about any of her classmates in the pitch, she would never understand.

Thankfully, Potter had caught the Snitch rather early on in the game.

She tried not to think about how odd he'd been to her just the day before and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The best she could surmise was that it was some kind of a diversion for a trick that would be revealed later, some type of joke that would eventually be played on her. If anything, it was an impactful reminder she needed to be on her guard.

Amid the cheers, Hermione heard some students complain about how quick the match had been. Her eyes rolled of their own accord. She would never understand the inherent bloodlust that seemed to come with watching Quidditch. Begrudgingly, she stood to her feet and looked for Parvati. They usually walked back to the dorms together, an act of charity of Parvarti's end. However, the witch was nowhere to be seen.

 _No matter,_ she inwardly rallied. _That just means I'll have to take an alternative route back._ Hermione slipped into the crowd, pulling the hood of her cloak taut around her face as she weaved in and out of people. When she reached the bottom of the stands, she opted to take the long way around.

She stuck closely to the ridge of the Quidditch Pitch, whilst hurrying along. Her nerves were on high alert when she circled the Quidditch Lockers - if there was any place to be spotted, this would be it - but she let out a tense breath when she saw no one in her path. The idea of making it back to dinner in the Great Hall and then stealing away to the library was looking more and more possible. There was a book on defensive spells that was just calling her name.

It really was a lovely plan, and no where in it would she have desired for Harry Potter - winner of the much looked forward to Slytherin versus Gryffindor match - be leaning against a post as if he'd been waiting for her.

Hermione blanched.

 _It's no big deal. Simply stroll right past him. Give him a nod of acknowledgement, maybe._ But it was too late, she'd already paused just long enough to get skewered by bright green eyes the color of Floo flames, and just giving a simple nod would be a thing of difficulty. _What is he doing here, on the outskirts of the field? Away from his adoring fans?_

Potter's odd behavior was really starting to weigh heavily on her, as it seemed to inexplicably be directed _towards_ her—a mystery in and of itself.

She willed her footsteps steady, and made to walk briskly past him, but the sound of his voice stopped her.

"Hey, Herm— Granger," he said, catching up to her several easy strides. "Wait up."

 _Erm...wait up? But why would I ever?_ She stopped, paralyzed. "What do you need, Potter?"

He smiled widely at her, causing shivers to spark down her spine. "We're both heading to the same place, aren't we?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she did not say anything in return. _Let him be the one to explain himself._

He still smiled as if they were old friends, and she noticed the way his jaw jutted out, somehow more prominent. He looked _harder,_ no longer the sweet boy she'd briefly met upon the Hogwarts Express to be sure, but even different than the right prick he'd been a few days ago. His eyes were more... _insightful._ Not that such an observation made any sense.

The oppressive silence stretched and then his smile faltered. "Why are you out here by yourself?"

Was that concern that flashed across the depthless green? A trick, of course. Her body tensed.

"Why are you alone?" she deflected. "I'm sure you have a sea of fans wondering where you are about now."

His smile returned. "They won't be looking for me." In the shadows of the setting sun his smile became a rather dark smirk. "I told them I wasn't feeling well. I'm not much for crowds."

 _Not much for crowds?_ Did he think her daft? He was Harry bloody Potter and a crowd followed him wherever he went. "You look fine to me."

"Do I?" His features instantly became smug. "I'm glad you think so."

Was that flirtatiousness laced in his voice? Sort of honeyed and sweet but...arsenic just the same.

"If you're through." She turned abruptly to leave.

"Wait."

The sheer desperation of his voice halted her this time. Lifting her eyebrows curiously, she turned back around. "What in Merlin's name do you want? Your girlfriend to hex me, is that it? Is she waiting around the corner...her and her horrid friends?"

It was the most she had said to anyone in a long time. Potter seemed to be having that effect on her lately.

His eyes widened fractionally, and then a flicker of sadness flashed across his face. "I only want to be friendly."

 _He must be joking._ Familiar hurt, surged in her chest, and she felt her throat clog with unwelcome tears.

"Friendly?" She channeled all the disbelief she felt into her words. "Like you were in sixth year...that sort of friendly?"

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Sixth year?"

How cute _._ He was going to feign ignorance.

"Yes, sixth year. You know full-well what happened then. I think I'm a lot better off without _your friendliness_ , thank you ever so much."

"Forget about sixth year," he told her earnestly, that hungry sheen returning to his eyes as he stepped closer.

Hermione took an instinctive step back.

"Whatever it was, I was mistaken, I see that now. I'd just like to be friends, for what little time we have left this school year. Is that so much to ask?"

Whatever he pretending, he was doing it well, because he looked the picture of sincere.

"Why do you want to be friends with me now?"

He paused, as if considering her question carefully. "You're a powerful witch."

"Powerful?" For the first time in this entirely bizarre conversation, she felt like laughing. "Now I know you're joking."

He sighed in irritation, as if she were the one insulting him.

"Power isn't something you can hide. Even if it's raw and untrained - it's there - I can feel it rolling off of you in waves. You have power, Granger. You only need to tap into it."

This was new. If this was some clever tactic to keep her talking to him, it was working. He'd never told her anything like this before. How could he have known... have guessed that those would be the words to ensnare her? To use and manipulate her with, as she knew he was prone to doing. When Potter had a one up on someone, he knew how to use it. Had he finally figured out hers? Worked out that she was thirsty to learn more than the meager, Ministry-controlled school had to offer? He was complimenting her, and it was hard not to let such a thing get to her head.

But then she remembered the hurt and the pain from only such a short while ago.

She remembered what came of listening to boys with pretty words, who float her to the clouds with their big lies, only to have her come crashing down to reality with a hard thud as she hit solid ground again.

His words meant nothing.

Her mind would not let herself fall into that trap again...to be laughed at...to be one the joke was always on her? There was always an endgame with that group of friends, and Hermione would rather not see herself walk into another less than savory situation.

"If it's all the same to you, no thank you, Potter." She lifted her chin defiantly, unsure of what inspired her to do so, or how she was not running for cover by this point. Surely she was asking for it. The majority of the school would support Potter walking all over her, even attacking her, so why she should stand so confidently in front of him was beyond her.

His whole demeanor seemed to dim - then crumple - in front of her. It made her feel unsure. Was it at all possible that she could be wrong about this? Was there any sane reason why the famous Harry Potter would be showing her even the slightest bit of attention, and voluntarily leaving his adoring friends just to do so? It didn't matter. It was impossible. She had to hold her ground. Doing anything else would only lead to pain and suffering.

This time when she turned to leave, he let her go, and she was grateful for that.

Yes...she was definitely grateful.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Since Harry staved off the after-match activities, that evening he could be found on his bed with the curtains tightly shut as he rummaged through _his_ belongings. It was sort of odd...like he was going through someone else's things, even though they were supposed to be his. They were still foreign to him, and they felt like someone else's entirely. If he was to assimilate to the world the chalice had thrust him to, he'd need to know his things front and back, and maybe he could pick up some clues along the way.

The caliber of clothing he carried was very telling.

All of his wizard's robes were purchased from specialty shops in London and Paris. Even his muggle clothing was name brand. There were designer jeans in his trunk along with brand names like Burberry and Armani—names he hadn't even heard of before. Each discovery made him more and more concerned about being able to effectively pull the role of being the Harry James Potter from this world. He could only use the excuse of being sick again so soon after tonight.

There were surprisingly very few books. His counterpart seemed to have exactly no books for pleasure. There was a Dark Arts book that looked to be a family heirloom, perhaps belonging to the Potters or the Blacks. There were the usual school books. He had no books checked out from the library. The only other book he was able to find was a school yearbook.

The yearbook proved to be very useful.

Leafing through the pages, he saw picture after picture of himself along with many others. Through the yearbook, he was able to see who he was friends with. It was odd to look at pictures of someone who was the spitting image of himself, but _wasn't himself._ Other Harry seemed to be fond of derisive smirks and carried himself in a haughty manner. They were things he was going to have to learn rather quickly if he had any hope of fitting in. He was only pictured with Ginny once, in a group Slug Club photo. Relief flooded him as he hoped to not have to deal with her much. There were countless pictures of him, Theo, Draco, and Ron, but just as many with him and Pansy, signaling that they'd been dating at least since sixth year. Harry decided he probably need only act a cocky bastard and then he should do quite well in fooling all of his friends.

One page landed on Hermione, pictured standing next to Parvati Patil in the _Astronomy Club._ It was the only extra-curricular photo he could find of her, besides the regulation school picture.

His temper rather suddenly escalated.

Out of nowhere, he wished desperately to change it all. He wanted Hermione to be in all the clubs he knew she could handle. She should definitely be invited to Slug Club at the very least. He wanted her to be in so many more photos. He wanted her to be happy and laughing and with friends of her own. The meek girl in the moving image smiled softly, her eyes widening slightly, but otherwise standing still. Harry couldn't stand that her school years had seemed to go by with her hiding in the shadows. It was a crime for her to be restrained as she was. She was capable of so much more, and the knowledge of this weighed heavily on him.

Not that Hermione would drop her guard long enough for Harry to swoop in and fix anything, much less get close to her.

Her rejection of him today had been hard to take, but certainly not unexpected. Harry knew it would take time to build up Hermione's trust, but he would do so and he would learn her mannerisms and get to know her likes and dislikes. It was of his top-most priority to figure her out, as if she were some challenging puzzle. Whatever shadowy history they may have had in sixth year and before was neither here nor there. He would make it up to her and then some.

He just needed to build some distance - some natural distance - between him and Parkinson. Perhaps pull away from his friends just a bit, and in a way that reduced backlash. He'd rather align himself with a different sort. But…

...But maybe he was going about that all wrong.

Maybe his mistake last time had been how quickly he'd disregarded _one sort_ of people in favor for another. And how beneficial had that been? Exactly where had playing the hero got him? It seemed to him he'd sacrificed more than he gained. Realistically, one could never have too many _friends_ and he shouldn't rule anyone out. Maybe they could prove useful in the long game and he could possibly benefit from tolerating such acquaintances in the future. It wasn't as if they would force him to do something he didn't want to.

 _The meeting,_ an unwanted thought, nagged at his brain. Yes, the heavily hinted at 'meeting' Parkinson had referenced. Perhaps that would present a problem, especially if he were required to prepare something ahead of time. Or, it could always present an opportunity. Parkinson, or Pansy as he had better get used to calling her, had promised they could 'prepare together,' so surely he would find out more soon.

Harry resolved to think about that later, and not let Hermione's more than reasonable rejection bring him down. Everything would be made right eventually, but he had to be patient.

He was pleased to find his Invisibility Cloak, a small gift from the universe, so it would seem. Placing the Cloak in a compartment of his trunk, he placed a Concealing Charm on it for added safety. A thorough search had him finding his Marauder's Map tucked away under his pillow. The discovery of the Map and the Cloak, along with the revelation he only need act a complete arse to keep up the guise of Harry from this world, was enough to elevate his mood just slightly.

This was doable.

And if he were honest, the prospect of pulling off such a feat was both challenging and exciting. It had been a while since he felt so invigorated about anything at all, a rather sad disposition for someone that was merely twenty-four.

He was busy packing everything away, when he came upon a magical lingering. Calling upon his own magic, he pushed it to swell through the trunk and discovered his counterpart had his own secret compartment. Where he had concealed valuable pieces of magic like the Hallow he carried, the other Harry had a vast amount of galleons, potions, and a wallet stuffed with pounds. Inside the wallet, he found several pictures. One was of his godfather Sirius and him that couldn't have been taken longer than a year ago - which caused his heart to clench in his chest - and two others of his father, standing in Auror robes, and one of his father, Remus, and Sirius in school—possibly their seventh year.

His mother was glaringly absent.

Next to the treasure find was neatly tied up parchment. Harry unrolled it to find Gringotts bank records, a vault key pinned to a scroll, and another parchment that caused him to do a double take. It must have been his Ministry papers—maybe all witches and wizards were required to carry them? _Note to self, sneak away to the library and find a recent history or current events text._ The paper stated his birth date, which was the same, as well as his Half-Blood status, and his address—12 Grimmauld Place.

Underneath that information was another line of elegantly scrawled text.

_Harry James Potter, Ward of Sirius Orion Black._

**~oOo*oOo~**

 


	4. Not So Very Rare After All

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Charms.

A Slytherin/Gryffindor class.

One of Hermione's least favorites. Not just because most of her tormentors were in the class, but also because it was a practically useless course. She stared at the vinegar that she'd charmed a deep crimson red - turning it into wine as instructed - and resisted the urge to drink it herself. How did wine formerly vinegar taste? She imagined not the sweetest.

She darted a glance over to the side of the room where the most loud and boisterous students congregated. A flicker of annoyance shrilled through her at the sight of Potter and his gaggle of followers. It didn't escape her notice the way Parkinson had placed a possessive hand on his shoulder - subtle - but telling in that every witch in the room knew Potter was _hers_. Not like that should matter - _at all_ \- to Hermione. Even if Potter had been toying with her only yesterday, he was clearly back to his normal self—complete with his contemptuous smirk in place. Whatever strange mood he'd been in seemed to have vanished, and he was back to being regular Potter—a typical debonair wizard who strolled through Hogwarts like he owned the place.

With effort, she pulled her attention away from the group and slumped back in her chair. She continued to doodle on the side of her parchment, jotting down ideas for spells of her own making. If only she had the proper resources to experiment with—there was only so much she could do alone in her room with her wand. She'd like to peruse through potions ingredients, and stay after in the various classrooms. It would be wonderful to actually further her learning instead of always repressing the desire. The current climate of fear wasn't exactly ideal in an education setting, and was definitely stilting her ability to learn.

Her thoughts wandered. Having already performed the task, and from the looks of it, being part of a rare few that had, she was becoming a trifle bored. This weekend was to be a family weekend. Hermione despised family weekends. Mostly because she was angry about the fact that _her_ parents couldn't come to the school for visits. What was more, the parents that were welcomed were awfully rude to her, if they paid her any attention at all. She preferred for them not to notice her. Especially Mr Malfoy, who was fond of very loudly voicing his surprise that they still let Muggle-spawn into the school.

She tried to stay holed up in her dorm or the library during family and Hogsmeade weekends, but she was bound to run into somebody at some point.

A loud explosion wrenched her roughly from her thoughts. Flinching at the sound, she turned to the back of the room, just in time to see Weasley's face covered in soot, a product of him misperforming the spell. Hermione suppressed the resultant urge to smile. Brown was fussing over him as if he were somehow terribly brave for not following directions and giving himself a scare. Ignoring them, she turned back to the front of the classroom, but not before catching Potter's gaze for a split second.

To her alarm, some of the strangeness she'd felt the day before returned. He had that earnest, almost hungry look in his eye before he gained control of his features and looked impassive like he usually did. She couldn't help feeling worried and thought back to her earlier concern—what in Merlin's name did he have in store for her? Whatever it was, it couldn't be anything in her favor. Potter was cruel and vicious, and it was far better to be ignored by him completely.

She made a valiant effort to ignore the exchange altogether, but she couldn't help feeling torn. She was equal parts shaken and irritated. Her irritation was quickly overcoming her concern. The resentment she felt towards the majority of her classmates for making her feel like she was always traversing through a pit of angry blast-ended skrewts was getting old. Her performance was best when she wasn't feeling insecure and vulnerable, but anymore, when didn't she feel insecure and vulnerable?

It might have been slightly better when she'd first come to Hogwarts. The feeling of unrest in the wizarding world was not as extreme, not as evolved as it was now. Since then, Voldemort had wormed his way into the Ministry. He and his regime had successfully put many of their own in positions of power while simultaneously ridding the world of leaders who had been friendly to the Muggle community. That, coupled with the new laws enacted, had seen her situation go from bad to worse. Even Muggles were experiencing the fallout from it. The Muggle Minister was terrified of the intimidating wizards who they weren't supposed to have an alliance with. All that was really left was for Voldemort to step from behind his puppets and declare his presence to the world.

The only thing that stopped him was the disappearance of Neville.

So long as the threat remained, no matter how small or pathetic it had become, Voldemort would not come out from the shadows and take over what he had been controlling already for years.

Neville had told her about the prophecy, the one that Hermione suspected many to know about but no one would speak of. The birth that had occurred in the Longbottom line signified danger to Voldemort. Neville was predicted to be the one that destroyed the dark wizard, however impossible that seemed.

She wasn't sure why that should stop Voldemort, or send him shrinking to the shadows. What good was Divination to anyone, anyways? If it weren't so horrific, Hermione would almost find it funny that some silly prophecy of a child with no connections or visibly powerful magic could pose a threat to the Dark Lord, so much so that he did not allow himself to be seen since hearing of the prophecy some eighteen years before.

And perhaps he was coming to realize how silly it all had been. The Resistance was but a blip on anyone's radar. Aside for the recent activity that made the newspapers, Hermione had hardly heard anything about them. Many of the witches and wizards who fought against the Death Eater regime had been rounded up and taken to Azkaban. There were very few remaining. Voldemort was getting bolder, and he would probably take over as Minister very soon. All that was left was for Neville to be captured.

The fact that he hadn't been, and that he'd eluded quite a few assassination attempts, some at this very school, was certainly reason to pause. Hermione often debated whether or not the prophecy could be true after all. How had Neville been so lucky all this time?

True, he'd had Headmaster Dumbledore to protect him at the beginning of it all, before he'd been assassinated in fourth year, but it'd been over two years since then, surely such powerful wizards would succeed in capturing him by now? It was a shame Dumbledore no longer headed the school. Even with the various edicts against Muggle-borns, he'd been kind to her and taught her much of what she knew. He did not tolerate abuse - when he saw it - in his school. Times had changed drastically since then.

Hermione still wished she would have known Neville and the rest of the bedraggled Order wouldn't be returning this school year—she would have begged to go with them—despite it being clear that it was a lost cause. Anything was better than the day to day terror she had to deal with. She may have been too fearful to have put her neck out there before, but she hadn't realized what a difference the school year would be without them. She'd taken a stand, going as far to join the DA in fifth year, and she'd forged a friendship - a sort of respect - for Neville. The wizard had taught her how to fight, as much as he could at that time, and any dueling knowledge she had could be credited to him.

But she never really believed there was hope. It hadn't occurred to her how much worse things would get. Now she could kick herself for not taking more risks in her life.

"Professor Flitwick?"

Hermione was jolted from her thoughts by the sound of Nott's voice.

"Yes, Mr Nott?" The professor paused in his step and turned to face Nott with polite interest.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't believe this spell is appropriate for a Charms class."

Hermione sighed and mentally prepared herself for what was sure to be another incidence of the Head Boy showing off. She could already hear the snickers from her fellow classmates. It grated on Hermione's nerves - Nott's verbal sparring - how she longed to challenge him, at least one time, and shut his know-it-all mouth up properly.

"Oh?" Flitwick furrowed his brows in confusion. "Do elaborate."

Hermione turned her attention to that side of the room, her anger bubbling when she saw the smug students congregated around their hero. She was mildly comforted to see Potter wore his typical look of disdain—that was how he was supposed to be.

"Changing vinegar to wine is not technically a Charm, in the strictest sense," Nott drawled loftily, seemingly enamored with the sound of his own voice. "Since there are no properties being added with this particular spell, and we are merely changing one property to another - _transfiguring_ \- if you will, I believe this bit of magic to be in the Transfiguration category, and thusly, we should not have to perform the spell for the sake of this class."

As his speech wrapped up, the clapping began, and even Flitwick looked impressed by Nott's deduction.

"Well…" he faltered. "You do bring up a valid point. Twenty points to Slytherin for that brilliant observation."

A smile spread across Nott's face, causing Hermione's temper to flare hotly.

The annoying prat! How could the professor let him get off so easily? An argument began preparing itself in her head, begging to be unleashed.

Before Hermione could stop herself, she raised her hand high in the air. "Professor?"

Flitwick searched for the voice that had spoken, blanching when he saw it was Hermione that had raised her hand. The class got suddenly quiet and the professor looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Miss...Granger?"

Despite the stares skewering her from around the class, Hermione lifted her chin definitively, pulling from a foreign strength that seemed to have come out of nowhere. "While Mr Nott does bring up a valid point, and indeed it would appear at first glance that because of the transfiguring nature, _Posco Epoxis_ should be classified in the branch of Transfiguration, I can't help but to disagree, with all due respect _._ " She looked Nott's way and almost questioned if she should continue when she saw the pure malice not only present in his eyes, but also in the students that flanked him. Some looked downright gleeful. _Bugger it._ She could hardly back down now. Clearing her throat, she continued. "To the untrained eye, it may appear the only magical shift lies in morphing one ingredient to another, however, when one considers that vinegar is produced through the oxidation of ethanol, it is entirely possible that what this charm does, is revert that naturally occurring phenomenon instead of transforming it. In the strictest sense, one might argue that this spell is most definitely a Charms spell."

Hermione took a deep breath, and only enjoyed a few seconds of triumph before the magnitude of what she had done began to weigh on her. Her classmates stared dumbly at her, some stunned and some angry. She immediately doubted whether or not disagreeing so publically with Nott had been a good idea—the wizard was staring daggers at her. Weasley, for some unfathomable reason, was positively leering at her. She shrank back in her chair feeling suddenly rather small. But when she unwillingly allowed her eyes to seek out Potter, she detected a glimmer of sharp interest that caused the familiar wariness to creep in her mind.

"Er...ugh, that is to say," Flitwick stammered, lost for words. "While you do bring up a most creative point, I would have to side with Nott on this one. The spell is definitely one morphing in nature, barring the naturally occurring reaction to ethanol, one still must change the current property...you understand."

The professor was rambling, and she knew she had lost. There would be no praise for a job well done, or for furthering the discussion. He was effectively shutting her down, and a part of her wished to never surface again.

"Well, then," Professor Flitwick continued, looking down at them from his podium. "There's no need to perform the spell, simply write me two feet—"

"Professor!" someone shouted.

Hermione whipped her head around to see that it was Potter who had interrupted the teacher.

"Er...yes, Mr Potter?"

"I can't help but point out the truth in Granger's reasoning," he said silkily. Beside him, Parkinson made a scathing sound of disgust and shot him a look of that could only be described as a sneer. "Sorry, Pet," he chuckled. "But you know I'm all for House competition. If anyone bothered to notice, Granger and I were the only ones to successfully perform the spell, which, in my opinion, warrants points alone, coupled with the valid point she brings to counter Nott's arguments, and I would have to agree with her. After all, the spell is taught in our _Charms textbook_." He smiled brightly, seemingly uncaring of the discomfort he had caused on some faces.

Now it was Hermione's turn to be shocked. Had Potter really sided with her - _publically?_ \- in front of his girlfriend and the most well-connected of all the Purebloods in school? If the scene was relayed to her later, she would have laughed at the impossibility of it. To add confusion to more confusion, he flashed that brilliant-rarely-seen-smile her way. Distantly, she became aware she was gaping and clamped her mouth shut.

"Well..." Flitwick was visibly sweating, adjusting his collar as if he were being choked. "It's definitely been a lively class, that I must say. Quite valuable discussion. Mr Potter brings up yet another perspective, and right you are. Twenty points for…" he looked at her as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "For Miss Granger...to Gryffindor, that is."

Her heart swelled in her chest.

Over two years.

It had been over two years since she'd earned a single point for her house. The feeling of contributing to a philosophical discussion freely and having her opinion be justified was so unfamiliar but so very welcome.

"You've all done well today. Class dismissed."

Hermione got shakily to her feet, reaching with trembling fingers to grab her belongings. She was still in disbelief. The question she'd asked herself many times in the last two days came unbidden to her brain— _What was Potter playing at_?

Moving as if she were made of lead, she shuffled out of the classroom, finding that she was the last one to exit.

She was immediately assaulted when she reached the hallway.

"Hello, Pet," Weasley greeted with a smile that definitely didn't comfort her. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Her eyes scanned the hall as she walked swiftly past him, searching for his girlfriend. Brown would surely hex her if she caught Hermione saying one word to Weasley. But she couldn't be rude. "To Runes, of course."

"You're in luck. I'm headed that way as well."

She squinted at him suspiciously. "You don't take Runes."

Weasley looked affronted, his freckled face pinching in irritation. "Doesn't mean I can't walk that way, does it?"

Hermione shrugged and averted her gaze.

Weasley had always seemed to have a rather...unhealthy obsession with her, but she'd been saved having to deal with him so far this year with his very public relationship with Brown. Learning to ward off his... _probably advances_ over the last few years had been a tricky slope to navigate.

"You know, if I were you, I'd be a bit more friendly to me." Weasley eyed her as if he were silently appraising her. "Hogwarts is an awfully big school, and it's nice to have a friend, isn't it?"

"I have friends," she argued, pulling the strap of her messenger bag higher over her shoulder.

His face twisted in a sneer. "Certainly not powerful ones."

She stared at him blankly.

"Bloody hell, Granger, all I'm saying is I might be able to offer you some...protection of a sort. You know, make things easier for you," a smug gleam darted across his eyes, "if you can do a thing or two for me."

Nausea twisted in her stomach. "Um...that's a very... _generous_ offer, Weasley."

"Something to think about." His stance quickly turned haughty and sure. "It won't be on the table forever."

Hermione mumbled some semblance of a thanks, and scurried away from him as fast as she could. Merlin, had he just propositioned her? Did he think she was that desperate? That she'd compromise her integrity for his protection? It was laughable. Weasley was a slimy git and she'd rather be teased mercilessly than depend on him for anything. One thing was sure, she had to watch herself around Weasley.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry became more repulsed as the day drew on.

For whatever reason, this day was especially vexing. Perhaps it was the threat of him having to meet his godfather whom he hadn't seen since _his death_ that loomed over him. Moreover, he wished he had a Time-Turner to speed through the things he did not want to do, of which there were many.

Mainly, he didn't like how long it was already taking to build up a different sort of rapport with Hermione, and become a person she could trust. He realized such a feat required an extraordinary amount of patience, but he wanted to fast forward to the part where... _she was his._

Harry laughed aloud, earning himself a look from a passing student.

Oh yes, that would go over very well. The way he felt about Hermione was nowhere near what she was capable of reciprocating at this point, and he would only scare her if she even had an inkling. Still, he did not like playing boyfriend and girlfriend with Pansy Parkinson, and even though he thought he'd done a passing job so far, a conversation earlier clued him into one major thing he was missing.

" _Are you okay?" she asked him as she perched on his lap in the Gryffindor common room._

_He tensed up like a bow being pulled taut. "Of course." He tried for nonchalance. "Why wouldn't I be?"_

" _Barring the fact that you haven't fucked me in three days?" Her brows lifted challengingly as her sharp eyes assessed his every movement._

_He ran a hand through his tousled hair, if not just to buy time. "Hadn't realized it had been that long," he said carefully._

_She sighed. "If this is because of Pike…"_

" _Pike?"_

" _Yes, and Harry, you know that was weeks ago."_

" _Oh, yes, Pike." A vision of the Slytherin Chaser swam in his head._

" _You can hardly be angry with me about that when you've fucked other witches."_

_He wrinkled his nose. Was he really that much of a prat? "Not recently…" he tried._

" _Maybe not recently." She smoothed out the lines of her skirt. "But the fact remains that you have."_

" _Sorry, Pet. It's only that I've had my mind on a lot of things. By the time the days ended I'm positively knackered."_

_Alarm bells rang off in his head. He'd have to end this sham of a relationship a lot sooner than he'd anticipated if that was the kind of behavior she was expecting._

Harry worried his lip, the Pansy situation weighing heavily on him. That along with the fact that it had been four days, and still his relationship with Hermione seemed just as icy, and he was feeling quite down in the dumps.

But it was time to push that aside. He was making his way to the Hogwarts Great Hall where he expected to find Sirius waiting for him. What did he call him? How did he act around him...this person that raised the Harry of this world and would know him better than anyone he'd encountered so far. It was time to pull out all of the stops for this performance. The situation with Pansy, and even Hermione, had to be placed on the backburner.

He'd just reached the third floor stairwell, when he ran into Ron.

"Slow down, Harry," Ron called after him. "We're all going the same place."

"Oh." He inwardly seethed. "Hey, Ron."

"Hey…" he trailed off uncertainly.

Harry got the distinct impression Ron wanted to say something to him. He got that same look that the old Ron got when something weighed heavily on his mind. Ron was chewing on his lip and his ears had turned red - a Weasley trademark. Whenever Harry looked at him, Ron would glance away quickly.

Harry inwardly cursed. The last thing he wanted was to get into a lengthy discussion with Ron, like he actually cared. He debated ignoring the telltale signs, but etiquette dictated he ask the right questions. "Something on your mind, Ron?"

"No, nothing."

"Good." Harry picked up his pace and Ron had to hasten his to keep up with him.

"Well...there is one thing I've been wondering."

"Oh?" Harry's patience was waring thin.

"In class yesterday...you...and Granger."

His jaw tightened at the mention of Hermione. "What about Granger?"

"Well...bloody hell, Harry, you know how I feel about Granger."

"How you feel?" he prodded, his patience practically disappearing.

Ron frowned. "She's my side action."

Harry's fingers flexed, getting that itch he got when he was tempted to Avada someone. It was a feeling he'd had more and more recently since the first time he'd casted the Unforgivable at Rodolphus all those years ago.

His hands balled into fists, drawing on strength from the pain he felt as his nails dug into his palms. "Your... _side action_?"

Ron frowned, letting out a testy exhale. "Yeah...I mean, eventually."

His voice lethally low, he pushed Ron for more information. "So...you've hooked up with her?" The words tasted like bile on his tongue.

"Not, exactly. But...you know." He shot Harry an appealing look. "I will be soon. It takes work."

Feeling very much like the Harry of this world, he scoffed loudly. "You _will be soon_? That's pathetic. What do you think, there's some bro code? I'll fuck whomever I want, when I want and if you're too incompetent to close a deal yourself, expect that there will be someone else to take your place. I certainly can't make any promises."

Harry brushed past him quickly, hoping that what he said was something the former Harry would say. By the looks of Ron's pouting face as he left him, he guessed it was within his old behavior pattern. Now he only needed to find a way to not kill Ron Weasley the next time he saw him, speaking so foul about Hermione! As if she would be anyone's _side action._ Nothing enraged Harry more than hearing such a disgusting thing. He wouldn't kill him. Add that to the Pansy, Hermione, Sirius, and elusive meeting problem. His list was rapidly growing.

"Harry!"

He became swept up in a hug so fierce, he was hardpressed to find his breath. But when he did, and when that familiar scent of cloves and cigarettes wafted through his nostrils, he couldn't help but embrace the imposing figure back.

"Sirius," he said with an edge of disbelief, before he could stop to question himself.

He didn't want to let his godfather go. Sirius felt real and solid and familiar in this world of opposites. Hugging Sirius grounded him and brought back memories of fonder times. _Please don't be evil, Sirius. Please, don't be!_ He meant the internal chanting with every fiber of his being, despite the logic that told him his godfather was not the same person.

"Merlin, Harry. It's only been a month since last I saw you." He pulled away and took a long look at him.

Harry was unprepared for the way his heart clenched in his chest when he saw his godfather's face. He looked just the same, sans the scars and drabby clothes. His wizard's robes looked rather expensive. Even so, Sirius possessed the same twinkle of mischief in grey eyes.

He was surprised by his strong reaction to seeing the man that, in another life, had been something like a father to him. He supposed Sirius was even more like a father to Harry in this world. This whole time, Harry had assumed his heart was hardened, that there was no concern for anyone except Hermione, who - as fate would have it - he could not do anything about anyway. But reuniting with Sirius awakened something in Harry he long thought gone. The bitterness momentarily melted at the sight of someone he cherished.

Sirius was thrusting something into his hands. "A box of treacle tarts from your Aunt Bella. She told me to tell you she retrieved them from that French bakery you're so fond of and put a stasis charm on them. Nothing but the best for her Harry."

"Aunt Bella," he tried, the words foreign and bizarre on his tongue.

Sirius drew back from him, squinting his eyes as if he were evaluating him. "Say...you haven't been indulging in too many potions, have you?" Harry shook his head slowly. "That's all good and well when you're in sixth year, but it's time you focused a bit more with your last."

Harry felt like someone had poured ice in his veins. The Sirius he knew would never be so flippant about taking drugs.

He swallowed thickly. "Everything in moderation," he drawled. Some of the tension drained out of him when he saw Sirius relax slightly.

"That's a good boy, Harry." He clapped him hard on the shoulders. "You have a future to think of now. What would James have to say about it if you were anything other than a high-ranking official at the Ministry? And of course, all the doors are open for you, you need only choose which to go through."

Harry forced a stiff nod.

"Come on, then." Sirius moved further into the foyer and away from the Great Hall. "You're usually dragging me to the carriages by now, trying to spend my fortune, if you have any say." As if remembering something, Sirius reached into his lavish robes. "And I didn't forget this, of course." He handed Harry a small satchel, heavy with coins. "Don't spend it too quickly."

By the weight of it, and remembering what he already had back in his trunk, he doubted he could.

"I hope you've been preparing, Harry."

Harry perked up at this, wondering what exactly he was to be preparing for. "Of course."

"I mean it." And for a second, Sirius looked deathly, well...serious. "There's a lot of fun to be had, _sure,_ and I wouldn't stand in the way of that. Sodding hell, I'd join you." He smirked jovially at Harry. "But you'll want to impress the Dark Lord. Display your skills and take it seriously. Then the fun can start."

Blood was no longer running through his veins. No, that was ice crunching through the delicate vessels. Harry tried to focus on any hint of information he could receive about his meeting with now who he realized to be Voldemort - beyond a doubt - but Sirius threw him off balance with his presence alone. There was so much about this situation that was just... _wrong._ So he'd have to face down Voldemort— _again._ Whatever. He'd done it before and lived to tell the tale. And what was more, he wasn't a boy but a man and fully trained Auror who had already fought a war. Voldemort could be fooled, easily. The whole situation was completely nutters. He was close enough with Bellatrix Lestrange to refer to her as his aunt, for Merlin's sake. His life had indeed taken a turn.

They reached the large doors of the castle, and were permitted to exit through them by an unknown professor who was busy checking off a list. They continued walking to the carriages, Harry having to continuously catch himself to keep from gaping at his godfather.

"You're quiet, aren't you?" Sirius turned his gaze to Harry, and he was struck by the friendliness - the warmth - in Sirius' eyes. At the very least, this version of his godfather did care about him. "What's troubling you, Son?"

His eyes... _watered._ Though why they would uncharacteristically do such a thing was beyond him. The absurdity of the situation was hard to wrap Harry's head around. "Something in my eye," he explained, swiping at it.

"Don't tell me it's that witch."

Harry froze before remembering himself and attempting to look as carefree as he could manage.

"Witch?"

"That damned girl who has her claws latched onto you," Sirius snarled in disgust. "It's a," he shuddered, "Parkinson thing. Merlin, Harry, you don't need to be tied down already at your age. Your dad wizened up to that, and so will you. Look, at me—I've never married and it suits me well. I'm London's most eligible bachelor. Contrary to what the world says, you don't have to marry." Sirius looked troubled at the thought of Harry's wasted youth. "You need to play the field for a bit, at least. You know, learn what's out there! Wives can be quite nasty once they exchange those ancient vows. Better to stay free, I always say."

It was quite the advice to receive from your father-figure. Harry's mind reeled at the strangeness of it, and he’d mentioned his _father_. But among the madness, there was one thing Sirius had succeeded in doing for him—he'd provided him with an _out_.

"I think you're right, Sirius." He smiled, for the first time feeling like his burden had lessened. "I should drop the witch. I don't fancy being tied down."

"That's the spirit!" Sirius looked pleased that his fatherly advice had registered. "Now let's go catch a drink at the Broomsticks. We can fill you up on sweeties and Quidditch supplies after we have a stiff drink."

Harry's eyes widened at the offer, but he was in no way about to turn down a stiff drink of any kind, and certainly not with Sirius. He'd dreamed about such occasions happening after the war.

And despite how warped the situation was, he actually had a great time with the wizard he looked up to more than anyone. More than good, it was actually _perfect._ His relationship with Sirius was the most natural thing in the world and Harry found he didn't even need to try as he did with everyone else. He only needed to ignore certain... _inconsistencies._

**~oOo*oOo~**

The weekend was winding to a close, and Hermione had almost made it through Family Day - _so close!_ \- when she was suddenly accosted by Greengrass, Brown, and Zabini.

"Well look who it is," Zabini crooned. "A lonely Lion, off by herself."

"Not exactly clever, are you Granger?" Brown asked, sticking her nose in the air.

Hermione ducked her head. "I wasn't trying to run into anyone on purpose," she was compelled to tell them.

They ignored her.

Greengrass examined her perfectly manicured nails. "That was some stunt you pulled on poor Theo." She shook her head reproachfully. "You know Mudbloods are to be seen and not heard."

Brown twisted her face in disgust. "Not even seen," she added ruefully. "Their presence sets us all back a generation."

Hermione resisted pointing out that she was not forcing them to stop what they were doing and deal with her in anyway. Why couldn't they just leave her be? _Oh yes,_ she thought. _Because they take sadistic pleasure in torturing me._

She only hoped that they wouldn't torture her, like, with the real torture curse. Couldn't they just throw a few stinging hexes and be done with it? She was tired! And her behavior the day before had alarmed even her. Truthfully, she could not give a reason for why she had spoken out of turn.

"I'm sorry." She lowered her eyes to the ground. "I didn't mean to bother anyone."

"You're pathetic, Granger," Zabini informed her rather cruelly. "You couldn't cast a spell to save your life, yet you're in this school as if you have a right to be."

"What do you call that bit of magic she performed in class yesterday?"

Hermione snapped her head up to find Harry had strolled right up to them. _Great,_ she inwardly pitied herself. _Potter will join them, and if I know him, his caliber of spells is far more...eclectic._

When no one answered, Potter continued. "I'd call that a spell, wouldn't you?"

Brown laughed uncomfortably.

Potter's sharp eyes found Brown's and he leveled his menacing gaze at her. "I didn't see you perform the spell correctly."

"I," she sputtered. "I can do the spell too." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I just didn't want to. What's the fun in that?"

"Lighten up, Potter. You've been quite...broody lately. Maybe you need to lay off the potions?" Zabini pressed his lips in a tight line, as if he were a concerned friend.

"What can I say?" Potter threw his hands up in the air, but the act was somehow graceful. "I take magic _seriously._ And it disgusts me to see," his eyes raked over Greengrass and Brown, " _children_ abusing it. Maybe you don't deserve to practice magic. Maybe you aren't aware there's a war coming? Well, Blaise, what's your excuse?"

"Salazar's balls, Harry, we were only trying to have a spot of fun."

The expression on Potter's face seemed to suggest 'having a spot of fun' was an act of aggression in itself.

Zabini, ever the sharp one, got the picture. "Come on, girls. Harry's right. We shouldn't be so careless with our magic in the halls where anyone could happen upon us."

The witches reluctantly pulled themselves away, but Brown couldn't resist one last snarky comment to Potter.

"I'm going to tell Ron how rude you're being to me," she threatened, as if it were the end all be all, as if Weasley would say a thing to Potter.

Greengrass jutted out her chin in defiance. "And I'm going to give Draco a right-scolding. Clearly he's been _over-supplying_ you."

Zabini shot Potter an apologetic look, and then they were gone.

Hermione hoped that by some miracle, he would forget she was there, but of course that didn't happen.

The oppressive silence stretched, and Hermione debated slipping away, but when she chanced a glance at Potter, his eyes narrowed angrily at her.

_Wonderful. Familiar territory. I can deal with his anger._

"Did you like that?" he started, his tone reprimanding. "To be ganged up on by your fellow students?"

She snorted. "Obviously _not_."

"You can't defend yourself?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again, thrown off by this line of questioning. Defend herself? That would be asking for trouble, but was she capable of it? "Maybe," she told him, much less confidently.

"Maybe you shouldn't turn down an offer, then."

Hermione recoiled, remembering the offer she turned down just two days prior. How much different of an offer was Potter's when compared to Weasley's?

"Their magic is inferior to yours, I'd wager."

Hermione felt a blush creeping up at the blatant praise.

"Wouldn't it be nice to get them back, to scare them off...keep them from hurting you?"

She blinked, flicking her gaze up to his earnest expression and lowering it again. "I don't know if I could."

"You could," he was quick to assure her. "I feel the power in you. I can sense it coursing through you. Don't you feel it?"

Hermione's eyes widened. She was feeling something, but she wasn't sure it was this power he spoke of. No, she was feeling something else entirely. Heat flooding her body. He was luring her with pretty words, and she could curse herself that they were having actually having an effect.

Green eyes met hers with a devil-may-care glint, and no matter how much she searched for any trace of insincerity, she could find none. "It's raw and untrained, but it's there...and I could _teach you,_ " he elaborated. "I could help you develop it."

There it was again, that strange offer to teach her. "Why would you want to?" She couldn't keep the distrust from her voice. "Why are you so...interested...all of a sudden?"

"You already know." He shrugged as if it were nothing. "I respect power. I'm...intrigued by it."

She swallowed, not fully trusting herself to speak. Harry was offering to teach her, like Neville had. What was more, he had intercepted potential altercations, not once, not twice, but three times just in the past five days! Why would he do that, why would he put his neck out there for her, if he wished to cause her harm? Maybe, he truly did want to train her? Maybe he saw potential and wished to have a magical spar with someone that wouldn't simply let him win? Though, he would probably win.

Still, she was doubtful. "I'm in the same DADA class as you, Potter. What more do you know that I don't?"

In answer, he whipped his wand out from his robes. She couldn't keep from flinching. No spell came her way, however. Instead, he twirled his wand with a flourish and a sparkling blue butterfly the size of her kneezle spouted from his wand. It flew over her head in a shimmering cloud of blue. He hadn't even said an incantation! And it was...beautiful to behold _._ Her fingers itched for her own wand, to beg Potter to teach her that spell and any others he may know. The sparkling butterfly continued to fly over their heads, lighting up the dim hall, before it went back to his outstretched wand and disappeared into the holly.

"My godfather has some very old books, not available at Hogwarts. My education is somewhat furthered, and I haven't been limited by the Hogwarts curriculum."

Oh, yes, the illustrious Lord Black. Of course he did. Potter wasn't lying about that. He almost had her drooling. Well, figuratively at least. The notion that Potter had all this knowledge and that he could do wandless magic at the age of seventeen was proof enough. That he would share said knowledge with her? That was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Whatever the risks were, she should take them. What choice did she have?

She nodded eagerly, so fast she would surely give herself a headache later on. But she didn't want to refuse him twice, not when everything in her told her he was being genuine.

A look of triumph passed over his face so quickly, Hermione was once again skeptical it had even happened.

"Alright, Granger. The common room, tomorrow night." His tone brokered no room for argument. "After everyone's asleep."

"Okay." Her voice sounded small, and she wasn't able to completely quell the mounting trepidation she felt. "I'll be there."

He smiled at her once more, and she was beginning to think those smiles were not so rare after all.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	5. The Feel of Our Magic

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry entered through the sloping, earthy passage of the barrels on his way to the Hufflepuff common room. He tried to shove away the feelings of strangeness as he walked a path of the school he did not know all too well in his own world. Since the discovery of the yearbook, he'd made it a point to mimic the facial expressions of his alternate universe self, and he felt he was doing a pretty good job of it, all things considered. When in doubt, all he really needed to do was twist his face in a scowl, lift his nose in the air, and make some haughty comment. At the very least, it didn't take the education of an Unspeakable to figure it out.

Once inside, he was greeted by shades of yellow and black and wood surfaces polished to a high sheen. There were various plants and flowers throughout the common room, giving it a bit of a homey feeling, if not for the rowdy students congregated on the various sofas and chairs and even dancing to the loud music that played from the wireless radio. A large painting of the Hufflepuff Founder hung above a burning hearth, with the visage of Helga raising her goblet in the air as if encouraging the revelry.

Similar to his experience in his own common room, the Hufflepuff common room was a melting pot of students from all houses that seemed to only increase in numbers with the added detail of this being the first Badger party of the year. Harry walked alongside Malfoy, whom Harry was lucky enough to hitch the walk with to the common room in the first place, as he wove a path through the crowd to a cluster of couches by the eastern wall. There, Harry found all of his friends sitting around in an earnest discussion and every one with a drink in their hand.

Thomas passed Malfoy two cups of amber-colored liquid which he in turn passed to Harry. His eyes sought out Parkinson who sat alongside Greengrass and he strolled confidently up to her. Taking a seat with all the gracefulness of a member of the Sacred twenty-eight, he took a sip of his drink, not surprised to find out its contents to be fizzies mixed with firewhiskeyfirewhisky. _All the better,_ he thought darkly. _I could use the added boost tonight._

"Harry," Parkinson turned to him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I haven't seen you all day. How did it go with Lord Black?"

He twisted his shoulders in a flippant shrug. "The same." He glanced around and saw that the others were engaged in conversation and not paying them any mind. "We had fun to be sure, but he refilled my coffers and that's all that really matters."

"Perhaps you should stop being so frivolous with your Galleons," she scolded him teasingly. "I'll never understand how you boys like to gamble so. Seems like a colossal waste."

 _Here we go._ Harry let a flicker of irritation pass over his face and wrenched his hand away from her searching fingers. "I suppose that's my business," he drawled. "Isn't it?"

Parkinson blinked and then swallowed, but her face was betrayed no emotion. "Of course, Harry. You know I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do."

"Sure about that?" Harry arched a brow.

She nodded, giving him an encouraging smile and Harry marveled at just how perfect, and cunning Parkinson could be. He would have to be even more so.

"My godfather thinks I shouldn't be tying myself down with a witch for too long." He examined his nails, portraying carefree air he hardly felt. "He thinks I should be focused on enjoying life and pursuing my career."

A flash of anger splintered across her face but disappeared quickly. "And what do you think?"

He faced her challenging stare, unblinking. "I'm inclined to agree with him."

Harry braced himself, for a smack or an outburst, he wasn't sure which, but none came. Instead, Parkinson got up quietly and walked away from the group and towards an empty spot against the wall.

Harry waited a moment before following.

When he approached her, her lips were pressed together in thought, a storm raging in her dark brown eyes.

"Come on, Pet," Harry told her with an edge of exasperation injected in his tone. "We're both young...we've had fun...but surely you don't want to be tied down to one wizard already?" He paused for effect, then spoke again with obvious reluctance. "You've proven that before…"

She whirled on him, eyes blazing and for a brief moment reminding him of Ginevra, but her voice came out low, ever the ice-queen. "Like you haven't?"

He raised his arms in surrender. "I'm not saying I haven't." He ran a hand through his black hair. "I'm only saying I think we're doing each other a disservice. We need some time to experience things before committing, don't you think?"

"You sound like ever the coward," she fumed, folding her arms over her chest.

"I'm not saying we can never get back together," he protested, reaching out to brush his palm against her cheek. "Just that _now_ isn't the right time for us. We need to enjoy our youth for at least a little."

Her lips curled in a smile, but there was no mirth in her eyes, only a hint of sadness. "It's just like Mother said—you're bound to be a bachelor forever just like your godfather."

Harry swallowed, feeling slightly guilty for hurting the witch who truly did seem to care so much for him, even if she were horrid. "I'm sorry," he told her honestly. "I don't know if that's true or not...but you know I only want the best for you, Pans."

She gave him a soft smile at this, and let him pull her into a tight embrace. "Oh, Harry." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "You are a fool, but I do love you. I can't promise I'll always be here if you change your mind." She pulled away, chocolate eyes seeking his green ones. "But if you ever find yourself," she ran her hand slyly down his side, "missing certain aspects of our relationship." She grinned. "You only need let me know. I'm sure I can always make time for you."

Harry chuckled and looked away, rubbing circles into her back soothingly. "That's good to know." He turned and flashed her a flirtatious smile.

Parkinson returned it, but then grew serious. "I do hope you find what you're looking for, and sooner rather than later. You'll always be my favorite, Harry." Her eyes glistened and he worried she may start to cry. "I'd follow you straight into Hell, you know that."

She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and he let her. The Ice Queen was... _sweet_...in her own way.

Parkinson turned away from him, her short dress clinging to her ample hips as she swayed back to their group.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but wasn't quite ready to rejoin them. He instead spotted a group of Quidditch players around the beverage table and walked towards it. It was in his best interest to network with his fellow students and keep up pretenses. He'd already dumped his girlfriend which had seemed to be his longest standing relationship currently. It wouldn't do to do anything else that could be construed as out of character.

The Quidditch players were - unsurprisingly - caught up talking about Quidditch. Harry chimed in when he could, but for the most part sipped the same drink quietly. Others, however, were going through drinks at a much more alarming rate.

"Hey, mate."

Harry suppressed a wince when Ron clapped him hard on the shoulder, his firewhiskeyfirewhisky-laden breath assaulting Harry's nostrils. Harry's own drink spilt on his expensive jacket.

"Ron," he ground out.

"Whotcha doing over here?"

Harry lifted his brows in haughty defense. "What's it matter?"

Ron shrugged, taking another swig from his cup. "Just thought you might like to apologize to me, is all."

Harry's free hand balled into a fist. "Did you?" His tone was low and - if Ron had any sense—dangerous.

The ginger wizard nodded. "You were quite pissy, weren't you?" Ron peered at Harry though alcohol-hooded eyes. "Take someone's...crush, I guess you could say, and holding it against a bloke."

Harry sighed, his eyes darting to the door and wishing he could simply leave. "Not my problem, Ron. It's your fault for having the audacity to tell me who I can and can't cast my eye on." Harry shot him a reproachful look. "Why are you so infatuated with the Granger-girl, anyway?"

His eyes darkened and a sickly sense of trepidation welled in Harry's chest.

"She's kinda pretty, isn't she?" Ron glanced at Harry, seemingly unconcerned by the lethal glare Harry fixed him with. "For how filthy she is, you know. She's a bit doe-like, and sort of helpless." He exhaled a dreamy breath. "I like her freckles, you know...how they splatter across her nose like they do? And her hair's sort of...wild...like her eyes…" he trailed off and Harry suspected Ron forgot who he was even talking with.

"Yes, I think I know exactly." _I bet you don't know a thing about her, besides what you can see with your eyes,_ he shouted at his friend in his mind. _You don't know which books she favors, what sweets she likes, where she's most ticklish, what makes her laugh, what scares her, how brave she is, how fearless!_ Harry shot him a disgusted look before walking away from his former best friend.

 _Ron won't be getting his filthy hands on her,_ he inwardly vowed. _You were lucky you got to in another world, and even then it should have been me. You had your chance._ He couldn't think about Ron or his unhealthy interest in Hermione right now. Harry thought he'd handled the breakup with Pansy rather well, but soon word would spread around the school, and he would need to be ready.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The sun streamed through Hermione's dorm window, heating up her neck and effectively waking her. Around the room, she saw her dormmates already getting up and setting about the arduous task of getting ready. It didn't usually take Hermione so very long to get ready as she preferred to tie her hair carelessly into a bun and throw on the regulation uniform.

But today…

Hermione swallowed.

Today was slightly different.

It was the day of her meeting with Potter—her _lesson._ They were to meet in the common room after hours. Heat not attributed to the sun crept up her neck. _Dear Merlin..._ how had she agreed to that? But how could she have said no? _Gods, I'm so torn even now._ There was a funny feeling welling up in the pit of her gut that felt an awful lot like excitement. _Worried,_ she told herself. _I need to be concerned and on high alert! He could be up to something. He could be planning some mortifying prank on me like he's done before._

She didn't believe her own warnings. Not when she had looked in those green eyes herself and seen the truth in them...the honesty. He really meant to share knowledge with her - for whatever reason - and she needed to take advantage for this momentary lapse in his judgement before he woke up and realized how insane he was being.

Which brought her to back to Monday morning and the current task of readying herself for the day. For some silly reason, she had the hankering to take a bit more care of herself than she usually did.

"'Mione?" Parvati padded up to the side of her bed.

"Yes, Parvati?" She eyed her fellow Gryffindor, one of the only reasons why Hermione's life in the girl's dorm wasn't pure torture - well - that and the fact that Brown wasn't assigned to their dorm.

"Can you do that straightening charm you do so well? I don't feel like fussing with my hair."

"Of course." Hermione reached for her wand that lay hidden on her pillow and set about casting the spell on the witch before her.

"You alright today?" Parvati asked while Hermione worked. "You've been a bit quiet."

Hermione hummed something non-committal. "I suppose." She flicked her wand, and sent the spell to a different section of Parvati's hair. "Last week was a bit rough, is all."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Not unless you can tell me what I should do." She forced a laugh. "I've been getting some strange attention and I'm not sure how to handle it, exactly."

Parvati craned her head, giving Hermione better access. "Depends on who the attention's from."

"Well…" Hermione debated what all she should say to Parvati, though the witch had kept her confidence before. "I'm not sure what to make of it...but Potter has been making small talk with me lately. I haven't figured out what his angle is." She scrunched up her nose. "Then there's Weasley—he flat out propositioned me, Friday."

Parvati stepped up to the mirror and assessed Hermione's worth. "Well as for Weasel-King, -" Hermione smirked at the nickname Weasley hated so much, "I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot broom." Content with the job, Parvati turned and faced Hermione. "But Potter," she lifted her eyebrows mischievously, "there's only one reason Harry shows a girl attention, and you can best believe it's for the same reason as Weasley."

Hermione ducked her eyes. "That's what I was worried about."

Parvati eyed her incredulously. "Why?"

"Because I'm not sure of his intentions."

"Who cares if he wants to get into your pants—he's Harry- _bloody-_ Potter—let him!"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh, don't look at me like that." Parvati stepped away and started selecting clothes from her trunk. "I remember how you pined after him when we were children—wrote _Hermione Potter_ on your parchment. If you're so lucky as to have him want to take you for a ride, how can you refuse him?"

"Well," she sputtered as an embarrassed blush crawled up her face. "He hasn't said anything like that. It's only small talk like I said but...don't you remember sixth year?"

Parvati waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, but that hardly matters now. Boys do stupid things when they are younger." She clipped a silver dragonfly with a ruby eye into her hair. "Besides, everyone knows boys tease the ones they think are pretty. I'll tell you what—if he paid me the time of day I sure wouldn't squander that opportunity."

"I might remind you he's with Parkinson."

Parvati shrugged. "He's the ward of Sirius Black. I'm sure he's discreet." She turned and winked at Hermione. "Like all the rest of his friends."

Hermione bit her lip, trying in vain to tell herself that Parvati was _not_ right and Potter was _not_ propositioning her just like Weasley had. Her heart hammered in her chest at the mere idea of it—an entirely different reaction than when Weasley had come up to her.

Irritated with herself, she clenched her fists resolutely. These wizards of Hogwarts may think they rule the coop with their money and their connections and their good looks and their charming ways...well— _whatever_. She wasn't going to let herself be treated like some peasant who had no say in anything and would be happy to be passed around like _the Daily Prophet_. Contrary to popular belief, she could afford to be selective and hope for something better when the time came to consider a relationship. Potter had promised he meant her no harm and only wanted to practice magic with her. The very second it appeared he wished otherwise, she would flee to her dorms and never allow herself to be alone with him again. Damn her body to Hell if it thought it could react to Potter without her permission.

Satisfied with herself, she walked to her own trunk and to set about getting ready herself.

"Parvati?" She turned her wand to her own hair and began taming her riotous curls instead of simply looping it into a bun. "Can I borrow your lip gloss?"

The Gryffindor smirked before handing her a tube of rosy-tinted gloss.

"Thanks," Hermione mumbled, focusing on the arduous task bending her hair to her will.

Nothing to do with her meeting with Potter, of course.

**~oOo*oOo~**

News was finally starting to spread about the break-up at the noon hour on Monday. Because of this, Harry felt safe eating at the Gryffindor table instead of Slytherin. He longed for the normalcy and the rightness of it, and it provided him with an unbridled view of Hermione who was actually deigning to eat in the Great Hall.

She looked slightly...different. Maybe it was the way she wore her hair, high in a ponytail that at one point had been smooth though little locks of hair were now beginning to escape their confinement, but she looked happier. He liked to see her put together and eating with her house. It reminded him of the old Hermione. She wasn't that much different - just muted - not as decisive somehow. If anything, she was the most normal thing about this universe, really.

He'd expected to be left mostly alone, but was surprised when Malfoy came and sat beside him—at the Gryffindor table of all places.

"Hey," the blond greeted, silver eyes seeking Harry's out searchingly. "I heard about you and Pans and wanted to offer my condolences."

"Oh...thanks."

"Need anything?"

Harry shook his head, having an idea about what Malfoy could mean to offer.

"Well if you do…" He turned his attention to his food and Harry couldn't help feeling a bit...grateful, that Malfoy would leave their friends and sit with him here just to keep him company.

Screeching in the air pulled his attention away from Malfoy. The owls had arrived with mail and packages for the students, and Harry could barely contain his excitement. As usual, a black bird he wasn't familiar with in his world, dropped him off a package—this one from his _Aunt Walburga._ Harry paid it no mind, instead his eyes found Hermione who stared blankly at the package that was dropped in front of her with her name written elegantly across it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he heard Parvati prod.

"I don't know who would send me this," she said softly, almost too soft for him to hear from where he was sitting.

With shaky fingers, she untied the string that held the tissue and unwrapped it. She stared in stunned silence when she saw the Sugar Quills and Peppermint Toads from Honeydukes as well as the fancy French Treacle Tarts unveiled to her.

"Wow," Parvati spoke for her. "Looks like Granger has an admirer."

She blushed and looked around the table. Harry looked away quickly lest she find him staring, but he ended up looking straight into questioning silver eyes. Malfoy arched an inquisitive brow. Harry pretended to ignore it.

"Malfoy," Harry deflected the questions bubbling in Malfoy's gaze. "I'm glad you're here, actually. I was going to ask your advice on something."

"Oh?"

Harry flashed him a wry smirk. "A certain meeting that's drawing near."

Awareness registered in the Slytherin's grey eyes. "Ah." He nodded knowingly. "I wager my uncle hammered in the on importance of said meeting just as my father did."

Relief flooded him at the conclusion that Malfoy was in the know of the Voldemort meetings, and seemed to have one scheduled himself. "That's right. I'm not sure I'm as prepared as I'm supposed to be."

Malfoy cast an imperious look around, making sure no one was looking their way before continuing. "Father says the questions aren't too difficult to answer—very basic in order to ascertain where your loyalties lie, the usual." He paused to take a drink of pumpkin juice. "He may use Legilimency, to either see your mind or see if you're gifted in Occlumency. Of course there is a demonstration of spells in the form of a duel, so really, that's all we need to work on."

Harry sat back in an effort to look pensive. "Who will the Dark Lord have us duel?"

Malfoy frowned. "The Death Eaters, each other, not really sure."

It didn't sound too hard. Harry certainly didn't need to brush up on his dueling. Of course he was fairly certain of the right answers to deliver, depending what questions were thrown at him. The Legilimency problem was something to consider. Did he implant meaningless memories? Or impress Voldemort by blocking him? Or maybe a combination of both? Whatever he decided was the best course, he had no qualms about this meeting anymore. He was a trained Auror and this would be a cake walk.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry lay in his bed until just before midnight, hardly able to count down the minutes until he was able to sneak past his slumbering housemates - thank Godric there weren't parties on Mondays - and return to the common room.

He was the first one to arrive, like he planned, but he had a brief moment of concern, fearing that Hermione may not show.

Of course, just like she was in his world, the same curiosity seemed to drive her in this one, and it wasn't long before he saw her tip toeing across the red carpet.

Her ponytail was truly messy by now, but _he liked it._ She was wearing blue jeans and a simple white shirt. His mouth went dry. It was so unassuming on her part, but she looked _delectable._ Harry had to physically jerk his eyes away from her to avoid putting her off. He knew just how skittish she was around him.

Withdrawing his wand, he began moving to a dark corner of the common room further from the hearth and cast a series of spells. "Hello," he offered nonchalantly as he worked. He'd rather sneak away under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak to the Room of Requirement, but he wasn't sure if anyone knew of the room, and he didn't think Hermione would leave under the Cloak with him.

"What are you casting?" There was a guarded look in her eyes.

" _Muffliato_ and _Celio_." When he was met by a blank look, he continued. "The Muffliato Charm so we can't be overheard and the Celio Charm to hide us—at least initially—to the unsuspecting eye."

If the expression on her face was any indication, she did not want to be hidden with him. She also hadn't heard of those spells and her academic side was piqued.

He motioned her closer. "Come on, we haven't much time."

Hermione slowly edged closer, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. Harry noticed it wasn't the same wand she'd had in his world. This one was still vine, but the handle was curved and he had no way of knowing the core unless he asked, which would be incredibly rude.

"Now what dueling spells are you comfortable with?"

"Only what we've practiced in class," she said carefully. " _Expelliarmus_ and _Stupefy._ "

Aghast, he couldn't help but gape. "Is that all?"

"There were more in our books." She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "But...you know...Umbridge doesn't have us practice very often, does she?"

Oh, yes. Umbridge. The reminder of that cruel woman's presence in the castle as Headmistress made his stomach clench violently. He'd only seen her at several dinners, and it had been difficult to resist keeping the hate from his eyes, let alone keeping his wand in his pocket, but he hardly had the time to think about her now.

"I would think Carrow would delight in letting us practice on each other," he snarked.

"Well, he has," she shifted uncomfortably, "but...you know. Not everyone can do the Imperius and Cruciatus curse when we haven't even covered the basics."

Bile rose in his throat. Like so often in this world, he drew on techniques he had learned from his therapy sessions with Ginny and counted back from ten in his head. "Right." He forced a smile. "Never mind that. Spells will come later. The first order of business is summoning your magic and being able to call it to you whenever you need it."

Hermione eyed him dubiously. Potter was sure asking silly questions. But he'd asked her to raise her wand, and he did not seem intent on taking advantage of her as Parvati had assured he would, so she decided to follow his directions.

"How do I call my magic?" She could feel it humming under her fingers, but she wasn't sure how to send for it, exactly, if she wasn't guiding it into a spell.

Harry raised his wand with a flourish, before pulling it closely to his chest, and then she could feel it! His magic was powerful and wild as it flooded the area and whispered across her own skin, seeming to caress and lure her own with an electric humming. His eyes had fluttered shut and she couldn't help but feel like Harry looked beautiful like this—allowing his magic to unfurl around him. It was as she'd concluded before—his face changed when wielding magic. It was for the better. He was devastatingly handsome. _Well,_ she mused. _You can't exactly choose your mentors when you're in my position. I suppose I'll have to simply deal?_ She suppressed a smile.

"Can you feel it?" There was a hoarse edge to his tone.

He increased the force of it and she shuddered. Could she feel it? Her body shook under the onslaught! "Yes."

"Your wand is only a tool by which to bend your magic to, you don't even need it to call it, but it makes it easier." He stared intently at her. "Go on, lift your wand and let your magic rush through you."

Hermione tried, she really tried, but her magic was not complying. She was in awe of being in the company of powerful magic, and happy to simply stand in the midst of it, but calling her own was proving to be an exercise in futility. "I can't," she was sad to inform him. "My magic doesn't want to."

He arched a brow as if her statement had been a direct challenge to him. Before she knew what was happening, he'd purged the distance between them and was stepping behind her. Senses on high alert, she was about to turn to face him, unwilling to have her back to him, when she felt his hand flex over her waist and she froze.

"Try again," came the demand. It certainly was not a demand to ignore, just like the wizard who said it. The words sent a thrill to her gut, as if she liked being commanded, which was completely ridiculous.

She pursed her lips, feeling as if she had a predator behind her back, but decided to comply. Gripping her wand so hard her knuckles turned white, she raised it in the air and tensed, squinting her eyes as she attempted to force her magic to comply.

"No." She couldn't help but jump as he whispered into her ear. She was not comfortable with him so close behind her! "You need to relax." As if to reinforce what he was saying, the hand on her hip flexed over her jeans softly. The yelp about to escape her throat was surprised into silence when Potter brought his other hand to her extended wrist. Now she was closed in by Potter on all sides. Her body sang at the contact, urging her to take a step back and see how it would feel to press her back against his chest, for scientific purposes, of course. Her heart thrummed in her chest and her eyes became slightly hooded. His nose nuzzled the shell of her ear and she couldn't suppress a gasp. "Try," he coaxed her, his body prodding her. Against reason, her own body was relaxing, feeling quite drugged despite the delicious anticipation surging in her chest. A part of her was inwardly freaking out, but a wiser, more primitive part was submitting to his will, utterly relaxed and winding around him completely uninhibited. Who was this strange creature? It was far stronger than the part of her that was screaming to shove him away.

On the precipice of the unknown, she threw caution to the wind and submitted to his ministrations, letting herself go completely lax. _Magic?_ She inwardly called, raising her wand as if in a dream. She felt it there, just below the surface. It seemed confused initially, like herself, wondering why it was not simply being channeled into wood and molded into a spell. But then it seemed excited, also like her, thrilled at the prospect of being summoned for no other reason but to flow freely. She pulled her wand to her chest and focused on the delightful humming that she began to recognize as her own, unique trace. Potter's magic still tickled her skin, prickling across her body and tempting her magic to come out and play. _Come to me,_ she bid. And then, she let down her guard and carefully erected walls to let the magic course through her in a forcefully powerful rush. As if it were an animal just let out of a cage, it charged out of her and into the room, spreading out inquisitively. Potter's magic was happy to meet it.

When she felt their magic touch, her eyelashes fluttered shut. She couldn't bring herself to be alarmed when she felt his lips brush against her ear, wondering if she were just imagining things or if that really happened. "Good, Granger," he praised, his breath tickling her skin in the most delightful of ways. " _So good._ " She preened, or her magic did, she wasn't sure anymore as she felt one with it. "I think our magic likes each other." Her heart tried to burst from her chest. He wasn't even lying. The feel of their magic dancing around the room together was amazing, blissful even. Her head fell back against his chest and she felt his cheek press down against her hair. It was simply too lovely of a feeling to worry about past histories or concerns of less than noble of intentions...to say nothing of the vulnerable position she found herself in. Hermione could only relish in the feeling of unbridled power flowing freely and wonder why she had never tried this before.

The feeling of invincibility was so strong, it sent her reeling, and all of a sudden her head was no longer resting against a solid surface but dropping forward as if she'd plummeted on a roller coaster. The intensity was intoxicating and once she let her magic loose, it was determined to pour out of her faster than she could control. The room was spinning and lights were whirring and she suddenly wasn't sure if she was standing or sitting. "Granger." The voice was distant and she seemed too far away to answer. " _Hermione,_ " came the calm voice through the chaos, saying her name so beautifully, she had no choice but to pause and notice it. Wild brown eyes turned and snapped to green ones ten shades darker like a forest under nightfall. "You feel it?" He was holding her hips. She nodded. His eyes glinted and a shiver sparked down her spine.

A moment passed between them where they stood stock still, but then...

Potter let go of her and took two steps back. She could immediately feel him pulling his magic back from the suddenly too small room. Her own magic came crawling back to her, languid and content. When she felt the last strand of it return, she slumped, instantly drained.

He stood still, taking a minute to recover. When he looked back his eyes were unusually bright and much lighter. "Should have warned you." He looked away before looking back. "Calling on your magic is intense, but touching it with someone else's…"

"Intense is appropriate, I would say." She could scold herself for how breathy she sounded.

He turned around and sat down on a red divan. Hermione followed suit, sitting across from him lest she display her weakness and fall helplessly to the floor.

"That's the first step," he explained, swiftly shifting into business-like-Potter again as if she hadn't experienced the most extreme thrill of her life. "The second step is learning to control how much magic you call, and how much you need."

"How is this useful?" She hoped she didn't sound ungrateful, but she could hardly coax her mouth to form words, let alone get across her thoughts.

"That's never happened when I've brushed against someone's magic before, and I just meant to help you." He darted a glance to the fire burning to embers in the hearth, pressing his lip in a thin line. "The whole point of learning this technique is so you can become more in tune with your magic and the spells you cast will be much stronger."

"Oh." Hermione was surprised. She'd never even... _read_ about this technique. How come such a thing was not commonly taught? And...what had happened wasn't common? Her brain was too knackered to try and guess what that meant.

"You can practice to control it on your own."

Beneath his easy smile, she couldn't help but feel like he was tense and sitting almost rigidly straight, as if he didn't trust himself to move. Her brain was still so confused by the experience her observations were hardly reliable, though.

"I will." She smiled, finding the small token of appreciation was actually genuine on her part.

"Next time we can try using spells whilst drawing on magic." His voice was encouraging, but strained. "In the meantime, I can't help pointing out that I was right."

She squinted in confusion. "About what?"

"I told you you were powerful."

Her heavy eyes flew open at the revelation. So he had! He'd claimed he sensed it, and surely what she felt _was_ powerful. Maybe all she needed was someone to teach her how to develop it. Maybe Potter did not wish her ill after all, and truly did want to spar with someone he could first mentor. Perhaps she had finally run into good fortune.

Hermione mumbled her thanks and slunk off to her dorm, eager to be free of his presence so she could think straight. The intensity of his stare was hot on her back the whole way to the staircase.

Once in the safety of her room, she threw herself on her bed still clothed, thinking she was so tired she would likely fall asleep immediately, but that didn't happen. She stayed up late into the night thinking of every touch...every whisper...every brush against his body...and playing it over and over in her mind before she convinced herself she was remembering it wrong. Under the cover of darkness, she could let herself believe it was true.

**~oOo*oOo~**

 


	6. White Lilies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to LeanaM!

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry lay with his hands cupping the back of his head, staring up at the ornately decorated ceiling. He didn't want to get up. It didn't matter if he had Quidditch practice first thing in the morning or not...he could lay there for eternity just thinking about last night.

Merlin, but it felt good to touch his magic with Hermione's.

If he had any reservations before, any concerns that what he was doing was mental - as if he could bring himself to care at this point - it was eviscerated when their magic collided.

They were soulmates.

He was certain.

She was made for him and he _was made_ for her.

It didn't matter what world they found themselves in, Hermione would always be the one for him. There was something between them - something special and undeniable - that even the universe couldn't change. It could throw obstacles in his way, and Merlin knows it had, but it couldn't change his feelings or desires.

His patience would not be for nothing. Harry knew Hermione better than anyone else. He'd proven to her that he knew things she didn't. With that knowledge dangling in front of her, there was no way she would go on ignoring him. Hermione was ruled by curiosity and rationality and she would convince herself that learning all she could from him was worth any risk. Plus she had - Harry swallowed, feeling heat build low in his gut - she'd let him _touch her._ How he'd relished it! His lips brushing her ear...nose nuzzling her neck...hands flexing over her waist, he'd got the taste he'd been dreaming of and it made him heady with want. Sweet torture, because if he wasn't such a glutton for punishment and so hard on himself for his previous mistakes, he would have begged her for _more._ He would have flooded the direct conduit they shared with more of his magic, overwhelming her until she became a victim to her sensations and begged him to touch her. He could have pushed the boundaries and got what he wanted, but he didn't. He wasn't a monster. He was a man with a second chance and he wouldn't squander it. She would come to trust him and that trust would take time.

But damn if her proximity alone didn't morph his thoughts into nonsensical nonsense.

 _A bloody vixen and she doesn't even know it,_ he thought, still staring steadfastly up at the ceiling. Patience was of the utmost importance. He couldn't be seen with Hermione so soon after his breakup with Pansy—it would be a disservice to her. But he also refused to hide her - as if she were some dirty secret - once he did make his intentions known. He dared anyone to get between him and his witch. The treatment he'd seen would not fly, he would make that explicitly clear. Eventually, he would claim Hermione, and he didn't care what anyone thought of it. One derogatory slur directed to her would kick his wand hand into gear. She'd already had to deal with prejudices at school, and his mission in life was to make hers easier. He would do whatever it took.

He got up and dressed only because he had to—his cover relied on some semblance of normalcy.

Harry joined the rest of the Gryffindors on the Pitch and prepared for a morning of gruelling drills. He performed them perfectly. It was easy to do simple tasks in a body so wondrously whole. Each move was precise, and he didn't partake in any extracurricular conversations on the field. His teammates may have attributed his lack of willingness to gossip with them to his recent breakup, but Harry pretended not to notice.

Once practice was over the team went to change in the locker rooms, Harry was unable to avoid hearing what was really on their minds.

"Sorry, mate," Thomas told him, lips pressed into a thin line. "I know this has to be rough for you."

Harry wanted to scoff loudly, but resisted the urge.

"Yeah." The gleam in Ron's eyes suggested anything but sympathy. "And right before the Paris Season, of all times. I can't imagine going to Wizarding Paris not squared up with a witch."

 _Paris Season?_ He thought warily.

"Especially a witch like Pansy," Thomas added, clapping him on the shoulder.

Did the wizards not realize he was the one that dumped her? Harry wouldn't correct them—it wouldn't be classy. "Prefer being freelance, actually," he told them easily. "What's this Paris thing about, then?"

The two wizards looked at each other before bursting into laughter. Harry waited patiently for them to continue, but his patience turned to irritation the longer it went.

"Paris Season?" Ron cocked his head, brows raised in surprise. "Only the thing we look forward to most each year."

Harry gave a calculated nod, and Ron continued. "You know, when all the schools break for the long weekend and meet in Paris? For a weekend of clubs and parties? Don't tell me you're still knackered."

"He's not knackered," Thomas said with a smirk. "Not the way he performed in practice today. Just about showed us all up."

A flicker of annoyance passed over Ron's face.

"Which schools?" Harry hadn't heard of any intermingling between magical schools besides with the Yule Ball during the games.

Ron frowned. "You know…Beauxbatons, Ilvermorny, Durmstrang…everyone, really. It's coming up next weekend."

Harry decided to press his luck. "Everyone in the school?"

Thomas let out a sound of distaste. "Everyone _worth_ an invite."

 _Everyone worth an invite…_ Harry mulled the idea over in his head. There was only one person he'd want to go to something like that with, but doing so was out of the question if not recklessly risky. Still, if he was required at such a place without a second thought by his peers, did that mean he could chance leaving Hermione alone for a long weekend at a Death Eater controlled Hogwarts? What would be worse? He had to get her to come… somehow. He only had two weeks to think of a solution. Either he needed to stay or she needed to go.

"Can hardly wait," he muttered, turning his attention to relieving himself of his Quidditch gear.

Harry thought about all the expensive clothes hanging in his closet and packed in his trunk. Obviously his counterself was prepared for such a high-society function, as was evident from the amount of galleons he carried alone. Even if he did manage to convince Hermione to accompany him, what could she wear to such an event? He doubted her wardrobe was full of lavish dresses. If only he could persuade her to get something suitable, from Gladrags down in Hogsmeade, maybe? Though from the sound of it, he suspected the other witches who'd planned on this trip had splurged on something a bit more… _couture._ Damn. Harry didn't want to let her out of his sight, even if she had seemed to have managed without him before.

For the rest of the day, and late into the next, he wanted nothing more than to find Hermione, if not just to make a date for their next meeting.

He was hard-pressed to find her alone.

Between his academic and social obligations, he could never find her in the common room and she rarely ate in the Great Hall.

By Wednesday afternoon, he was desperate to corner her, and not in front of prying eyes in class, either. _Where would the Hermione of my world be?_ He asked himself after failing to find her at dinner. He smirked as the answer came to him. _The library._

**~oOo*oOo~**

To her delight, the week thus far had been uneventful.

Hermione had managed to stay under the radar in classes, in the Gryffindor dorms, and the one time she ventured to the Black Lake to sketch algae for her Herbology assignment. She hadn't run into any unfriendly faces - or _friendly ones_ \- for that matter. She'd avoided Weasley and...she'd avoided Potter. Not that she was trying so very hard. In reality, she found it difficult not to linger after class slowly gathering her belongings so she could hope to be the last one out with him. But it seemed prudent after their last lesson that she force some space between them.

She still wasn't quite sure what to make of Potter or her feelings for him. Though she was typically ignored, her attention was still usually focused on the topic the professor presented, but lately her mind had been wandering. Hermione wouldn't let herself look, but she always fought the urge to seek out his face in class. What a surprising boy he was—to keep all that knowledge he possessed to himself! Wracking her brain, she couldn't recall a time when she'd seen him perform a particularly powerful spell. He did assignments effortlessly, but they usually didn't require much intensity, or the same challenge. She couldn't help but wonder what other secrets he kept hidden behind those depthless green eyes.

She was eager to learn more, but she hardly wanted to come out as _too thirsty._ What if she inadvertently pushed him away, or he grew tired of her? He was her best chance at learning magic. It was better to keep her distance and let him seek her out. She didn't want to owe him anything, or let him know he held power over her. She especially didn't want him to know there was even a chance feelings she'd long repressed were beginning to resurface—that would be nothing short of mortifying. Her best bet was to leave him in the dark and not appear too eager. Gauging him out from a distance was the only way to discern if he was being genuine.

Besides, she needed her space after... _whatever it was that_ had transpired between them.

Which brought her to the library that evening. She was perusing a large book - _Charm Theory_ \- but so far had found nothing in reference to calling on your magic before a spell. The closest thing she could find to what Potter had shown her was Quentin Trimble's advice to 'charge up a spell' like with the Knockback Jinx, but even then the caster was merely holding the magic back to charge the spell before releasing it. The technique presented with the same strengthening properties Potter utilized, but his technique appeared to be stronger.

Not that she'd had the opportunity to practice any spells. A wistful sigh escaped her. She wanted to continue their practicing badly, but her safety was more important. She had no doubt that if she were caught with Potter, he would not come to her defense, and then she might face his angry friends who would no doubt wonder what _she_ was up to.

She set her book down and reached for the next one in the pile, _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ , when she heard footsteps approaching.

Pulse thrumming at her temples, she let her right hand slide down to her wand. She hoped it was Madam Pince—her fellow students rarely made use of the library after the evening meal. The footsteps grew louder - strong and sure in their step - and her heart pounded faster.

It wasn't Madam Pince.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise when she found Potter striding up to the empty chair by her table.

"Here you are," he said by way of greeting. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to call after you in the halls to have a word alone with you."

Her cheeks flamed magenta. "I'm glad you didn't—you'd get me in a lot of trouble."

He rolled his eyes and gracefully deposited himself in the seat next to her, slinging his bag down. "We can talk to whoever we want." He shrugged. "I wish someone would try to tell me otherwise."

"Maybe _you_ might be able to." She pulled her attention back to the text in front of her. "Did you want something in particular?"

"Yeah...did you want to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Her mouth went dry and her fingers clenched the book tighter. "No," she snapped, her eyes darkening as rage warred with something reminiscent of delight. "Why would you even ask something so silly? You think I'm dense, is that it?"

"No." He looked away, but not before she saw irritation flash through his eyes. "Just thought I'd ask, is all."

"You have a girlfriend."

He turned back to her in surprise, green eyes brightening. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"We've ended things."

Her stomach clenched tightly. _Ended things?_ She tried to ponder what would provoke them to do so—they were the Hogwarts _It Couple._ Hermione didn't think either of them would be keen on giving the other up. What did...what did this mean? Did it mean she didn't need to watch her back so much if Potter happened to speak to her in the halls? No—she would always need to watch her back. Hermione wanted to ask more details, but again shifted her attention back to her book. They fell into an uneasy silence.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter craning his head. "Get an assignment I didn't get?" His eyebrows lifted skeptically. "Or are you looking through all of those books because of our extra-curricular meeting?"

A muscle twitched by her eye. "Just reading up on things." She hoped the vague answer would satisfy his curiosity and he wouldn't push the subject.

"Right." He crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, since you're not curious at all, I guess I shouldn't even bother trying to invite you to meet me tonight, then." He pressed his lips in a thin line, and his eyes widened to saucers, reminding her of a puppy. She would have thought him really disappointed if not for the mirth dancing in his eyes. He was teasing her. Doubt and excitement curled low in her belly.

"No, actually." She closed the book and turned to face him. "Despite my better judgement, I am curious."

His features set in an expression that could only be described as smug satisfaction. He reached into his bag and pulled out another book, running an errant finger over the spine of it. Hermione tilted her head, trying to get a better look.

"Good." He offered her the, by the looks of it, very old book. "I wanted to give this to you. That way you know where to meet me tonight."

Hermione reached out delicately for it. "How would a book help with that?" But then she saw the title. " _Hogwarts, A History,_ I have it memorized." But then she saw the volume, and her brows rose to her hairline. _Volume eighteen,_ her heart soared. _This was well before the first Wizarding War with Grindelwald. It's ancient!_

When she looked up, she noticed Potter's sharp green eyes studying her. It was hard to tell, but he seemed almost...happy. Happy to be offering her a rare copy of her favourite text that was probably close to priceless?

"I can't accept this." A part of her screamed at her own stupid statement. Why did she have to be cursed with morals? "It wouldn't be right to take something so valuable, not for a moment."

"Oh...okay." He took the book back from her. "I'll just toss it."

"What? No!" Was the man completely nutters? "I don't think you realize the worth of this particular version."

"Of course I do, but I don't need it. I have even older versions back home so…"

"Wait!"

He smirked.

She wrenched the book back from him and glared heatedly at him. " _Toss it_ ," she muttered under her breath. "Of all the silly things."

"Tonight at ten, then, in the Room of Requirement."

She mulled over the foreign location. How could there still be a place in the castle she didn't know about? "And I'll find out about that place in here?"

"Yes." Harry clenched his jaw before continuing. "I suppose the transcriptors did not find it convenient to mention the room in the newer versions. An oversight."

Hermione nodded, gripping the treasured book protectively to her chest. "I'll give it back to you once I've read it."

"No need."

"I insist."

"Whatever." He got up from his chair. "See you tonight."

Hermione smiled at his retreating form. Her mood had suddenly lifted. She would get a chance to pick his brain again, and now her nerves seemed to calm at the prospect, while simultaneously buzzing with anticipation. She thought about running to her room and reading as much as she could of the book there, but she couldn't resist taking a peek now. _Just a chapter,_ she thought.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry felt like a stalker, but he couldn't help waiting in a shadowed alcove of the first floor corridor. He just wanted to make sure Hermione made it back safely to the common room. Worry gripped him wherever she was concerned, and it especially seized him in this situation. She shouldn't stay alone so late in the castle. He should have insisted she walk back with him.

He ended up waiting an hour and a half - it was already nine thirty! - when he finally saw her walking past him.

When she got a distance ahead of him, he donned the Cloak he'd kept in his bag and began to quietly follow her past the sleeping portraits. He'd seen numerous students out and about, and he wasn't confident she would make it back free of run-ins.

They had just made it to the stairs, Harry a little behind her, when his fears came true.

"If it isn't Little-Miss-Mudblood."

Harry's eyes saw red as he took in the form of Amycus Carrow. _Fuck._

"You don't look as ruffled as usual," the Defense Teacher drawled, running his eyes greedily over her frozen form. "Have the students been taking it easy on you lately?"

"Excuse me, Professor, I was just getting back to the common room." Her voice had a slight tremble to it that caused Harry's gut to twist.

"Uh, uh, uh." Carrow shook a finger at her. "I think you are going to be late for curfew."

"I have thirty minutes, Professor—."

Her voice was cut short as Carrow slashed his wand through the air and Hermione went flying to the opposite stone wall, her feet dangling a few feet above the floor and her head hitting the surface with a clank.

Carrow advanced on her with the keen attention of a predator. "Do you realize how things will be in a few short years, months even? Mudbloods like you will only be kept around to serve Purebloods such as myself." He drew closer, and Harry took off his Cloak as if in a dream. "There are so many changes coming." He chuckled. "And you will never touch a wand, let alone speak to your superiors as if you were their equal again." Carrow reached a hand to cup her terrified face, and Harry's wand shot to his hand.

Before he could think it through, he reacted, firing off a series of stinging hexes and burning curses aimed at his Professor.

Red and purple sizzled hotly through the air, causing Hermione's eyes to widen almost comically as she searched for the threat, opening even further to find what had to be a vengeful looking Harry.

Carrow hissed and twisted, before bending and cradling his rapidly spreading injuries. He made a pathetic effort to raise his own wand, but then he saw Harry and froze in confusion.

"Potter?"

"Professor Carrow," Harry replied cooly, fingers itching to throw a green spell or two at the wizard.

"What the bloody hell has gotten into you?" Carrow looked at him as if Harry had sprouted three heads.

Harry wanted to hurt him. Rage had exploded like fiendfyre through his body, but the sane part of him was taking back control, and throwing up excuses for him to use. "Just practicing for my _meeting_ ," he said, enunciating the final word.

Awareness registered in Carrow's eyes. "You missed." The Professor drew himself up straighter. "You want to practice on the Mudblood," he spat cruelly. "Even Black's boy isn't excused from punishment. How dare you interfere with my right to hassle an inferior."

"This particular one already has a wizard to serve," he ground out, unable to look Hermione in the eye as he said it. "She's off limits."

"You dare mean to dictate terms to me, boy?"

"What are you going to do?" Harry lifted a challenging brow. "Tell someone a student bested you?"

"You didn't best me. You attacked me from behind." Pure malice shone through Carrow's eyes.

"Perhaps we should remedy that? Aunt Bella says I should practice on whomever I can."

The reminder of Harry's menacing aunt seemed to have an effect on Carrow. The wizard slumped and some of the fight left his face. "Fine. The girl is...off limits. You only need have mentioned it before you go shooting spells at people." The anger seemed to be leaving the man faster than it had come. "We're on the same side, boy."

Harry gave a stiff nod. "I understand, Professor." He resisted darting a glance at Hermione. "Let me get Granger back to our common room and we'll be off."

Carrow shifted his robes, inclined his head to Harry, and walked with a slight limp right past him. Harry held himself still for a moment, gathering his bearings before he jolted into action.

He sent a _Finite Incantatem_ her way and was there to catch her as she came stumbling down. Hermione's jaw was set and tears shone in her eyes when she looked up at him as he helped her get her footing. He knew he should let go, but his hands didn't want to leave her body now that he allowed himself to touch her.

"I _already have a wizard to serve_ ," she repeated in a hoarse whisper. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry pressed his eyes shut before reopening them. Absently, he realized he was now running his hands up and down her arms in a gesture meant to be comforting, but it may have only been comforting to him. She eyed him with distrust. "I said what I needed to," he finally told her. "Don't hold that against me."

"You two said a lot of things… about practicing… and meetings." There was a challenging glint in her stormy brown eyes.

"It doesn't matter." He dropped his left hand by his side, and trailed his right down to her wrist. Pulling her with him, he walked over to where he'd discarded the Invisibility Cloak. "You should have come back from the library sooner. You're lucky I was about."

"You always seem to show up at just the right time."

He ignored her comment. "We're late." Lifting the Cloak, he spread it out and prepared to throw it over them. "I suppose I'll just escort you there myself."

She placed a halting hand on his wrist. "Who's to say I still want to go with you?"

"You really want to give up a chance at furthering your knowledge?" he asked her in the lightest tone he could manage. "Doesn't very much sound like you."

Some of the concern left her eyes, but she still looked shaken. "No, I'll go with you."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and together they stepped tightly pressed together under the Cloak. "To keep us hidden," he explained, gesturing to the fabric around them. "I don't fancy any more run-ins."

"An Invisibility Cloak." She stepped beside him, distracted by Harry's Hallow and he tried not to let his eyelashes flutter shut every time she brushed against him. "You sure do have some clever tricks."

Her scent, something like freesia and citrus, assaulted his nostrils and he tried not to waver where he stood, feeling slightly drugged. His body sang at the close proximity and he wanted nothing more than to scoop her in his arms and hold her close, if not just to comfort her after that pathetic excuse for a wizard had accosted her, but the best thing he could do was to keep his distance and attempt to rebuild the trust his comment had likely fractured to bits.

"I'll share them with you, and then you'll have clever tricks too."

**~oOo*oOo~**

Awestruck, she looked around the room he'd called the Room of Requirement. One thought kept popping up in her mind, if only Neville had known about this place! How much easier would it have been than to be practicing in abandoned classrooms or the Shrieking Shack or the Forbidden Forest? Maybe they wouldn't have got caught so frequently.

The room was held up by extravagant marble pillars, the flames flickering in the wide hearth tinting them a warm shade of yellow/gold. Beautifully paned windows allowed the moonlight to stream in adding a sharp, silvery light to the room. A large practice statue draped in a cape and carrying a wand stood before the fire, and Hermione thought that piece of equipment could have been really useful to the DA.

"The room will manifest itself to be whatever you need," he explained to her, his voice a chilly whisper. "You only need think what that is when you walk past it."

"It can be a common room with couches and chairs? Or a bedroom with sheets and pillows? A place to eat dinner? Anything?" It really was impressive magic.

"Exactly."

If only she'd known about this place sooner, it would have been a great place to escape where she couldn't be found. Hermione shivered as she remembered her altercation with Professor Carrow minutes before and the horrible things he'd said to her. What would he have done if Potter had not shown up when he did? She couldn't to go back to her dorms and be alone just yet. She needed the distraction of practicing magic and the company of Potter.

"Let's sit for a bit."

Hermione followed Potter to the wall and sat down alongside him, pressing her back against the cool surface.

"Remember last time?"

She nodded, and reached for her wand, twirling it in her lap.

"It's a pretty wand. I like the handle."

She preened, happy to have her wand complimented, especially since having never been told so before. "I always thought so."

"Are you sure you're ready? We don't have to jump right into it. I could understand if you were shaken."

 _Merlin, but he needs to stop being so nice._ "Just a little, but I don't want to go back to the dorms yet."

"We don't have to. We can just...talk." Harry fiddled with his own willow wand, and Hermione was captivated by his long, dexterous fingers, so quick and sure.

"I'm just curious why you stuck your neck out for me?"

He groaned. "Do we need to talk about this?" He slanted his eyes over to meet hers. "I always tell you the same thing."

"That you sense… power?"

He nodded. "Even Vol-, the Dark Lord makes allowances for people who display an unusual amount of power."

She blinked flicking her gaze to his sure expression and then his knowing smirk. "He does not."

"Sure he does," he drawled confidently. "None of the politics matters, really. It's only ever about power… it always is."

"I find that hard to believe." She thought about the Pureblood regime that ruled the wizarding world with an iron fist and was only getting stronger. "But if you say so."

"Maybe I just find you refreshing," he rolled his wand around his wrist expertly, "someone who has the same interest in learning as I do."

Hermione found it hard to believe him, though his actions suggested he was telling the truth. "I'm sure many of your illustrious friends share the same interest."

He rolled his eyes. "Everyone has an agenda."

She snorted. "So do I," she couldn't help but tell him. "I want to learn everything I can from you." _So much for keeping him in the dark._

He chuckled, and the rich sound of it sent sparks whispering down her spine. "Maybe I just like you?"

Avada green eyes sought hers and she was once more swept up in the intensity of his gaze. Merlin, but she couldn't look away if she tried! How often had she thought about his dreamy eyes… his infectious laugh… his perfectly tousled hair… but he never noticed her except to tease her and that simply wasn't healthy so she'd forced the silly thoughts away. She was used to shutting thoughts of him out, only now, he was focusing all of that earnest attention on her and that had changed the game.

She bit her lip. "You've just broken up with Parkinson," she blurted, like he needed the reminder. "You're probably still reeling from that."

He laughed as if she'd just told the best joke of the century. "I'm sure that's not it."

With another flick of his wrist, he righted his wand and shot out a shimmering spell. A cluster of white, glittering lilies appeared right in front of her. Similar to the dragonfly he'd shown her before, it was transparent and suspended in the air. Heart clenching, there was a sudden roil in her stomach. The projection of flowers was so pretty, and he was so skilled—he performed magic effortlessly! And how was she supposed to remain unaffected and approach this from an educational point of view? It was hard to be clinical when her stomach was in knots. She was suddenly overcome with the rather impractical notion that he should kiss her. Her eyes grew hooded. Yes, that was a perfect idea. The evening had been a trying one and Potter had saved her and Potter was teaching her and she wanted nothing more than to convey her feelings of appreciation with a kiss.

The practical part of her rallied, reminding her of the sting of embarrassment in sixth year, and how it felt to be laughed at by the whole school while she readied herself for a Yule Ball that she would ultimately not be attending. The same wizard was again responsible, but where he'd merely asked her on a date to the dance before, he was showering her with attention now. Either he was upping his game tenfold, or he miraculously had a change of heart. She was inclined to be of the pessimistic mindset.

"They're lovely." She watched as they began wilting into tiny sparkles that fell in her lap.

"Lovely," he repeated in a voice that sounded far away. She got the distinct impression that he wasn't referring to the bit of magic he had demonstrated.

She clenched her wand in her hand, concealing her discomfort. "I can try the magic…"

He inclined his head ever so slightly and that was her cue to focus.

Calling on her magic, she grinned as she felt it respond in leaps and bounds inside her body. Raising her wand, she pulled it to her chest in the same motion Potter had taught her last time, but this time she was careful about how much she let pour out of her. In a tight channel, she guided her magic to her questing wand and instantly felt it flooding the space between them.

She'd done it.

It was charged and it was awaiting her next directive, buzzing across her skin. The situation was different from the last time and then Hermione recalled - slightly disappointed - that his magic wasn't playing with hers this time around. Without the added distraction, it was much easier to control her frenzied power.

"Cast a stunner," came the order.

Hermione got up, wavering slightly on her feet, and pointed her wand at the practice statue. " _Stupefy!_ "

A clash of red light so glaringly hot sliced through the air and headed straight to the statue, catapulting it back with a bang against the wall.

She clamped a hand against her mouth, absently noticing Potter had gotten up and was standing somewhere behind her. Was the noise too loud?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Potter answered her, "No one can hear us in here."

It was equal parts comforting and alarming.

Before she could quite recover from wielding the strongest spell she'd managed yet, he issued another command.

"Call upon it again."

Hermione repeated the motions she'd done earlier, finding it a lot easier to coat herself in her magic as she readied for the next spell. It was almost natural.

"Cast a Knockback Jinx."

She shot him a look of concern. "I haven't before…"

Potter was resolute in his demand. "You know the spell."

Furrowing her brows, she took comfort in the feel of her magic and cut the hand movement. " _Flipendo!_ "

The barely recovered statue staggered back as if kicked by a centaur. Hermione gaped, pleased with her work.

"Again." Potter stepped around her as the statue righted itself. "A Patronus, I think."

Hermione froze. That spell she had tried, but to no success. "I can't."

"Why not?"

She turned her back to him, hating herself for walking into another vulnerable situation. She should have expected his demands to get harder and harder. "The… happy thought."

He sighed. "Think of your parents or something?"

Tears stung at her eyes and she swiped at them, tucking her wand under her arm. She let out a derisive snort. "My home life isn't exactly overflowing with happy memories."

Silence, save for her sniffling, and then she spoke once more. "Sorry. I didn't know. I assumed life was… better there than here."

"Dad left us when I was a baby. Mum barely makes enough to afford our flat. She's only bearable when she's hammered, which is a nightly occurrence." She snapped her mouth shut. _Nice work,_ she mentally berated herself. _Just lay yourself out threadbare, why don't you?_

She yelped when she felt him come up and hug her from behind.

Freezing, she debated stepping away, but when his arms encircled her and he pulled her back against him she just sort of... _melted._ And then, to her horror later, the tears came freely. Her hands reached up to find his wrists, and like the time they'd shared magic before, she let her guard down and took the comfort he offered.

"You just can't catch a break," he said into her hair.

She shook her head. Her life had certainly not been easy. She turned around, momentarily breaking his grip and meaning to thank him, but his arms came up to cage her again, this time pressing her against his chest. She swallowed, tears lodged in her throat and she suddenly forgot she was supposed to be sad. It was..he felt... _delightful._ He was only hugging her, but her body felt on fire wherever they touched. His hands rubbed circles into the small of her back and delightful anticipation shrilled through her. Her face was crushed against his shoulder and his head rested above hers in between the crook of her neck. It was _too intimate_ and her breathing hastened.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear and her eyes fluttered shut. "It'll get better, though."

Her hands were locked between them, pressing into his Quidditch toned stomach. She swallowed again, and tried to pay attention to what he was saying.

He pulled away just slightly to look at her and Hermione hoped he couldn't sense what she was feeling. "You don't have to worry...not about the Slytherin girls or any of the students. I can take care of you."

Appalled, she stepped away, and he let her. "Take care of me?" she echoed. "I don't need anyone to take care of me. I can fight my own battles."

He quickly schooled his features adapting his typical impassive expression. "I meant by sharing the spells I know."

She eyed him dubiously. "It's just very generous of you, almost like you care."

He chuckled. "I care."

"Why?"

He looked away and Hermione sensed he was becoming agitated but her own agitation spurred her on.

"Why would Harry Potter, Quidditch star, breaker-of-hearts, and ward of Sirius Black, want to voluntarily pay any attention to a Muggle-born?"

His easy smile faltered and his eyes darkened to a furious shade of green.

"You expect me to believe I've somehow managed to catch your interest, all of a sudden, to the point where you _care_?" she pressed on.

"Believe what you want." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just telling you where I'm coming from. We've known each other for years at this school and the whole Muggle-Pureblood deal is starting to bother me. I don't think it's fair, especially when you're so good at doing magic. Kind of proves them wrong, doesn't it?"

Hermione gnawed on her lip, thinking again that Potter had said the right thing as he was prone to doing a lot lately. "That's quite the change of heart."

"It's called maturity, Granger."

"Not everyone matures like that."

"Who knows what will happen?" He walked over to his Cloak and picked it up. "We'd better be getting back, we have class in the morning."

Hermione nodded, slightly concerned about sharing the tight space with him under the Cloak again, but it was the best option.

"Sorry for questioning everything," she said as her anger drained out of her. "You've been kind and I've been so critical."

"It's okay." He draped the Cloak over them. "I would be too."

**~oOo*oOo~**


	7. Euphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely LeanaM for alpha and beta'ing this chapter

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Today we will be brewing Elixir to Induce Euphoria," Slughorn said, smiling at the students. "Can anyone tell me what this potion does?" He looked around the room. "Ah, Mr Nott, take it away, my boy."

"Certainly, Professor." Nott flashed a smile. "The Elixir to Induce Euphoria is a potion yellow in color, with the intention of inducing a sense of irrational happiness in the drinker."

Harry suppressed an irritated sigh, wishing it was Hermione that had answered the question. That would have felt normal at least.

"Very good!" Slughorn praised. "Five points to Slytherin." He shifted his attention back to the class. "Can anyone name a few side effects of ingesting this potion?"

Nott's hand shot up again, provoking Harry to recklessly raise his own when he noticed no one else would challenge the Slytherin.

"Ah." Slughorn's eyes widened in surprise. "Mr Potter?"

"The potion may cause the drinker to experience the need to sing excessively, or tweak their nose," Harry said, adapting his most Hermione-like recitation skills. "Adding a sprig of peppermint should counteract these side effects."

"Very good!" Slughorn looked overjoyed. "Take five points for Gryffindor." He turned around and began scrawling names on the chalkboard. "You will work with a partner. Refer to the blackboard for your assignment."

The students groaned as Slughorn continued jotting down the names, but some got up to seek out their partners. When Harry's name was written next to Brown, he silently cast a spell, wand clenched under his desk, and shuffled the letters.

Potter.

Granger.

Harry smiled at his work and looked around quickly to make sure no one noticed. "I'll get the supplies, Granger," he called over his shoulder, not deigning to even open his book.

"Potter," Slughorn interrupted. "I put you with Brown, I believe."

Harry gestured to the board. Slughorn glanced up and then frowned.

"My mistake. Carry on."

Harry couldn't help but smirk as he walked to the potion's cabinet and began gathering the ingredients they would need.

When he arrived back to their cauldron, he saw Hermione had already selected a pewter cauldron and filled it with moon-cured water. He began laying out the ingredients in order.

"What a fortuitous partnership," she commented.

Harry shrugged. "Bound to happen occasionally."

"Not really, no." Hermione added the sprig of peppermint watching with satisfaction as the water turned red. "Sluggy usually leaves the Muggle-borns on their own."

His hand paused over the shrivelfig. Was that the case? If so, then Harry had definitely made a risky move in assigning her to him. He reached for the shrivelfig and tossed it into the potion, turning it a turquoise color. "He's getting senile in his old age."

Hermione eyed him skeptically as she stirred the potion magically with her wand. Harry watched as it eventually turned blue and they allowed it to simmer.

He tapped his fingers against his hip, worry gnawing at him now that it was the start of the week already and Hermione hadn't gone to Hogsmeade with him. "I was wondering...what are you going to do for the long weekend?"

Startled, she glanced up, then ducked her head just as quickly, busying herself by selecting porcupine quills. "Same thing I do every weekend, why?"

"You aren't going home?"

"It's too costly to leave just for the weekend...besides, I'd rather stay." Her eyes were glued to the potion as it simmered to purple.

Harry frowned. "Can't you go to Hogsmeade and Apparate?"

She scrunched up her nose and peered at him. "Apparition classes are restricted to select students, not to mention they don't start until the end of the year." She began counting castor beans. "I swear, sometimes you act like you don't know the rules."

"I know them, I just prefer to disregard them."

Her lips twisted in a grin. "I can see that." Once she had selected seven beans, she closed the lid. "Why the sudden interest?"

A strand of hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it back. "No one will be here."

She snorted. "Plenty of people will be here. Not everyone is part of the elite."

He slid his eyes to the now brown potion and added more shrivelfig. "I just don't like the idea of you being here alone. The school can be...dangerous."

She blinked, then blinked again. "I know that, Potter. I've been going here all my life."

"It's getting worse," he argued.

She tossed her hands in a dismissive gesture, before leaning to add the wormwood. "If you're so worried about it, you should be rooting for Neville." Her voice was a mere whisper, but he could tell it had taken a lot of courage for her to tell him that. Her eyes abandoned the yellow potion and sought out his gaze, looking regretful about what she'd just allowed to slip as she studied him.

"This time around, I'd say Neville is a lost cause."

She exhaled a breath he realized she had been holding, but furrowed her brows in confusion. "You act like there were other times."

 _Because there were._ Harry waved his wand over the potion and recited the Cheering Charm to complete it. He rocked back on his heels, admiring their handiwork.

"Perfectly executed." She took a wistful inhale of the elixir.

"We should be partnered up more often." Again, he felt those chocolate-colored orbs studying him. "Want to meet in the Room of Requirement again tonight?"

"I have to finish my Arithmancy homework. Tomorrow?"

Harry shook his head. "There's a party - for _some reason_ \- in our common room then."

She chuckled. "Who knew Potter would grow to be averse to parties." A hopeful gleam shone in her eyes. "Wednesday, then?"

"Yeah, that'll work." He'd make it work. Spending time with Hermione was the most euphoric feeling in the world. Better than the twenty points Slughorn gave them for finishing a perfect potion so quickly, and better than any false feeling the elixir they had brewed that day could provoke. His feelings for Hermione were real, and being with her was the purest joy he could hope for.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione lay on her side, hugging her pillow as she watched Parvati pack for the upcoming weekend from in between her canopy curtains. The witch was bordering hysterical with her excitement, but it paled in comparison to Hermione's. It was finally Wednesday night, and she would meet Potter again in just a few short hours.

"Godric, I didn't think I'd get asked—can you believe I got asked?" Parvati tilted her head as she peered at Hermione. "My sister is so jealous I'm going."

She nodded. "I can. Who wouldn't want to go with you?"

"Down to the wire, that's for sure." Parvati threw herself before her open trunk and made a mess of her clothes. "I didn't expect an invite _at all._ " She shuffled through dress after dress, chucking away one right after another. "None of these are suitable." Her face pinched in distress as she continued to toss perfectly good clothes aside. "And I don't have near enough jewelry for a weekend in Paris. Everything I do have is so out of style."

"You could bring it back?" Hermione suggested. "Say it's a family heirloom and a very old piece of jewelry passed down your family line? Purebloods love their relics."

"Yes, we do. But we also like our new stuff too."

Hermione gave her friend a comforting smile. "Who ended up asking you?"

Parvati gave her a sheepish grin. "Zabini."

Hermione bolted upright in bed. "He's on the outs with Ginevra?"

"I don't know." Parvati went from happy to irritated at the mention of her Gryffindor rival. "Honestly, you do like to take the fun out of things."

Hermione ducked her head, feeling her cheeks go pink with embarrassment.

"I don't care about him and Ginevra. The fact is, I have an in. They can get back together for all I care. Just think of all the wizards that will be there, ripe for the picking. From schools all over the world. I can find an American or African or Bulgarian wizard—who really knows? If Blaise decides to let his eye wander, rest assured I'll be doing the same."

"Of course." Hermione nodded, faking her understanding. "Makes perfect sense."

Parvati arched a delicate brow. "Oh, Hermione—you're so _vanilla._ "

Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and averted her eyes.

"Honestly, I thought maybe you'd get a man to ask you."

Frowning, she looked at Parvati searchingly, but the girl neglected to explain her strange statement.

"Ugh, look at this bracelet." She held it up between two fingers and glared at it. "Silver and turquoise—so common."

"Parvati," Hermione prodded her to continue.

She flicked the bracelet away. "I saw that quill set you opened this morning. Candies, chocolates, books, and now quills? Next you'll be getting precious gems, and then maybe you could loan me something suitable."

Hermione swallowed. "Oh...that. It's nothing."

"Who's it from?" Suddenly, Parvati looked rather predatory, leaning forward in an effort to get the scoop. Hermione felt instantly uncomfortable.

"I don't know." She waved her hand dismissively. "I don't have a clue who would send me that stuff."

"Well, it's not Potter," Parvati rationalized. "That's definitely not his style."

Hermione's heart inexplicably plummeted.

"I guess it could be Weasley, trying to coax his way into your pants, but it seems like your admirer knows a lot about what you like, and that oaf doesn't notice a thing unless it punches him in the face. Still...I don't know who else it could be."

"A relative?" Hermione attempted to appear contemplative. "I know it can be confusing for Muggles to use wizard post…"

Parvati scoffed. "I think a relative would leave their name." She laid a silk, black dress to the side. "That one isn't so bad, but I'm not sure I could fit in it."

"You can always adjust the seams," Hermione pointed out. "I've seen Bulstrode do that before in Charms."

Parvati shook her head. "I'll bring these five." She threw several dresses on her bed and began looking for heels and jewelry to go with them. "And if all else fails, I'll just have to use all the galleons daddy gave me for the year on something new from Paris."

"Won't he be angry?"

"He'll get over it." Parvati became caught up in plotting her accessories. "But Hermione? If your mysterious admirer ever does come around, feel free to borrow any of that stuff I'm not taking."

Hermione laughed loudly as she fell back into her bed. "Fat chance of that, but thanks anyway."

The notion of joining her Pureblood classmates, many of whom were her tormentors, was preposterous. She was much better off staying at the school than being some wizard's eye candy and imbuing in too much liquor like her mother was prone to doing.

"You might like it if you did come," Parvati told her seriously. "Paris wizarding clubs are on another level. And the other schools aren't as...weird about blood purity as we are here in Britain. The elite in those circles are made up of old, wealthy houses, to be sure, but there are a lot of Newbloods too."

 _Still,_ Hermione thought bitterly. _A third of my current student body will be there and me attending would just be another form of entertainment. Not that going is a possibility anyway. It'll be just like the Yule Ball—I'll have to sit this one out._ Her attention needed to be focused on more important things - like surviving - not frivolous parties in a country far away.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, not wanting to wear a jacket when he wasn't in his robes, though many of his peers did so. He could save his vast collection of expensive clothes for the weekend. He knew he'd sworn off mind altering substances, but part of him wanted to simply keep a bottle glued to his hand and spend the weekend in a firewhisky-induced haze. It would be torture going four days without seeing Hermione, and he'd drive himself crazy thinking about all the trouble she could find herself in.

He wasn't sure if they'd be able to meet again before he left Friday, so he was going to spend as much time as he could with her tonight.

Malfoy had gone over their plans at lunch that morning and Harry had paid attention. The Slytherin inadvertently brought him up to speed on the international portkeys his father had procured for them from the Ministry and on their living arrangements. Harry had a private suite that had apparently been meant for him and Pansy in a lavish hotel in Wizarding Paris. Malfoy assured him the hotel they were staying at had the best accommodations and were the closest to the clubs they would be frequenting. The main party of the weekend was to be poolside on top of the luxury hotel they were staying in. When Malfoy passed out the mind-altering potions he was in charge of getting - as bold as brass in the middle of the Great Hall! - Harry had to physically force his hand over to Malfoy's to pass him the galleons. He would vanish the vials as soon as he was alone.

With the intimidating weekend looming over him, Harry was already in a foul mood, and that wasn't fair to Hermione.

When he made it to the room, she was already there, but it wasn't a practice Room of Requirement that he entered into.

"Hey, Potter," she greeted, smiling warmly. "I got here a bit early, hope you don't mind."

He shook his head, relaxing instantly at the sight of her. She was wearing jeans and a three-quarter sleeve grey shirt. Her hair was high in a ponytail, exposing her slim neck. Hermione didn't even have to try, and she was always the most beautiful witch in the castle. Her beauty was natural, and not forced like so many others.

"I wanted to see how it worked," she explained, gesturing to the interior, which looked close to their own common room. Couches, chairs, divans, and tables were spread across the room in shades of blue and silver. Only the hearth was the same.

"Looks like you got the hang of it."

Her smile widened. "It's the nicest room in the castle. I can't believe it's kept secret. Do you think the Professors know about it?"

Harry thought back to his time, and shook his head. "Not everyone combs through old volumes of books, and I think the ones that do know keep it secret."

"I like that." She nodded, seeming to mull over the idea. "Makes it more special."

Harry strode over to her and sat a decent distance away, further than his body wanted to, next to her on a plush couch.

They went through their usual drills—Harry instructing her to call upon her own magic as she tried spells she knew so well, but had seldom practiced in a classroom setting. He watched as she put a couch on fire, and froze a chair, setting them back to right when she was through. Like before, he began teaching her more spells not in their regulation school books.

He taught her various shield charms that all repelled curses differently. He taught her defense spells that were quick to cast but ruthlessly effective. There were a lot of wand movements and pronunciations for her to remember, but he knew she had a photographic memory. Patiently, he watched and helped when she needed him to. He was enjoying the environment she'd compelled the room to acquire, and time passed by more quickly than he would have preferred.

Last Thursday, they'd stayed up until two in the morning practicing spells, and were close to zombies in their classes the next day. But it was all worth it. Hermione was warming up to him. Slowly but surely, she was letting down her guard and beginning to trust him. She hadn't asked him why he chose to spend time with her in a while, and Harry hoped she was beginning to take him at his word, despite all the damage his previous self had done and even that he had inadvertently caused.

Hermione was laughing more freely, and teasing him with smart quips more and more frequently. She didn't seem as skittish when he would get close to her, and even now, she didn't seem to notice he had sidled right next to her. Harry knew he needed to give her more time to get used to him and to come to terms with the fact that he'd changed, but the prospect of not seeing her for the long weekend propelled him forward.

"There's one spell we can try." He sat back, looking thoughtful.

Hermione immediately jumped on the bait he lured her with. "Which?"

He adored seeing that eager look in her eyes—it reminded him of the Hermione he knew so long ago. The more comfortable she was, the more she became _Hermione._

"The Patronus," he whispered, studying her expression all the while.

She reeled back, gripping her wand to her chest. "You know I can't, Harry. I don't have anything strong enough…"

"Sure you can." Harry scooted inches closer to her, so that he could talk into her ear. She did not flinch away. "Pull on your magic and think of something...pleasant." He watched her throat shift as she swallowed. "There has to be something," he coaxed. "Something you've enjoyed above anything else." From this angle, he had the perfect view of the side of her face as a blush crept up her neck. His eyelids lowered. "It doesn't have to be something singular; it can be a combination of things. Maybe when you've found a good book and you've stayed up for hours telling yourself you'll only read one more chapter." She smiled softly, and raised her wand before pulling it to her chest. When he felt her magiccharge through the air, he couldn't resist letting some of his own magic come out and whisper against hers. She gasped when she felt the connection, and Harry dug crescent moons into his palms to keep from reaching for her. "Or when you've answered a question correctly in class and the Professor awards you points. Or when you've solved a particularly troubling Arithmancy problem and suddenly all the complex Runes and symbols come together to make a perfectly reasonable answer that fits." He allowed their magic to wind together, relishing in the feel of her essence as it mingled with his ever so softly. "Maybe you get a wonderful feeling when you perform a complicated bit of magic, like you were born to do. Others may struggle, but you catch on quickly and see the transformation before your very eyes." Her eyelashes fluttered shut and her head lulled to the side. Harry pressed on. "How about the taste of your favorite sweets? Strawberry-lemon tarts and Sugar Quills and Peppermint Toads?" Her eyes snapped open and she gasped once more as she tilted her head to face him. Harry met her stare unflinching, curling his fist into the cushion of the couch to keep from launching himself at her. "Say the spell." His voice was rough, and left no room for argument.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

A wispy, pale light shot out from her wand, strong and sure. The light purged the dim room, and spread from her wand in a wide half circle.

"More," he told her. " _Push_."

Her fingers tightened around the wand as she strengthened the spell, and the light shot out into the room. At first, it was nothing but a white, transparent light, but then a corporeal body began to form in the center of its intensity, morphing and stretching until a creature appeared.

"An ocelot," he observed, watching as it galloped around the room with all the ferocity of the witch who had cast it. "Perfect."

Hermione dropped her wand and fell back on the couch, panting. Her corporeal Patronus ran around the room for another twenty seconds before fizzling out and vanishing completely.

His lips quirked and pride seared through him. _His witch_ was fierce. But she was exhausted, having exerted her energy all night in casting spells she'd never practiced before and all after enduring a grueling school day. It was clear she had depleted her energy. Harry didn't see how it would hurt to offer him some of his own.

Lifting the door of his perfectly guarded control, he allowed more of his power to enter the room, rushing out in all its unrestrained glory and engulfing the two of them in a surge of electrically charged magic. Hermione sat up as if Ennervated, but Harry did not call back his power. Awe blazed in her eyes as she looked at him, tentatively reaching with her own invigorated magic and brushing up against his. Harry's eyes rolled back. Gods, how right it felt. His magic was greedy and threw itself at her as Harry wished he could do. Hermione arched her back ever so slightly as she stretched languidly. His mouth went dry and his eyes darkened as desire flared low in his gut. _Fuck...if she isn't the most beautiful witch._ Harry was suddenly standing, when had he stood? He felt like he was floating. The magic they shared was more potent than any mind-altering potion Malfoy could conjure.

"I told you you could do it," he said silkily, barely recognizing his own voice.

She sat on the edge of the couch, breathing in shallow gasps as their combined magic surged through them. "Harry."

Not Potter.

But Harry.

The beast Harry kept so carefully controlled stirred.

"It feels so good."

"That's how it feels to control powerful magic and bend it to your will." He dropped to his knees in front of her, so he could look up at her. He wanted to see every movement she made. She made him spellbound. _You're lovely. You're beautiful. I want to make you mine._

His hands took hold of her calves before trailing up to her knees and resting on her thighs. Her head fell back and Harry raised himself higher off the floor.

"I like to see you wielding powerful spells, Hermione."

A giddy laugh tumbled from her mouth. "Why?"

"You're beautiful."

Her eyes opened leisurely. She lifted one of the hands she used to anchor herself and placed it on her chest. "I'm beautiful?" Her eyes suggested he was mocking her. How silly was she?

He nodded, eyes falling to her lips.

She leaned forward. "I think you may have accidentally ingested some Euphoria Elixir," she teased. "I don't think anyone in their right mind would call me beautiful."

"I want to kiss you." When had his hands found her waist? He was moving and he didn't even realize it. That was the effect she had on him.

Her mouth fell open and her chest heaved. "Kiss me?"

He nodded again, pulling himself forward.

"I don't think—."

"I never got to," he told her, as if that would clear up any confusion.

Hermione sank her teeth in her lower lip and sat stock still, despite the whirlwind of magic that was causing Harry to teeter where he crouched on his knees. She watched him, as he inched closer, her eyes treading unknown territory as they fell to his mouth. The tightness spread like building tension in his chest.

Harry closed the scant distance and kissed her with the lightest of touches, soft and gentle. He knew it was coming, but he inexplicably wasn't prepared for the delicious heat that poured through his body. All he could think about was the softness of her lips as they brushed his. She sat almost inhumanely still, but her mouth softened against his instinctively. Realization sang like his blood had been laced with a poisonous potion—he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. The tarnished secret he carried weighed heavily on him, but she was letting him kiss her and it felt too good to stop and think about what was happening.

The tentative kiss grew firmer, as he tried to coax a response from her. Magic thrummed through his body and an insidious voice kept sending him unwanting thoughts. Would he taint her? Would she forgive him if she knew? Would she want him as badly as he wanted her? He wanted desperately to be the man she desired. He began pulling his magic back slowly. A voracious sort of thrill spurred him on, and he nipped at her bottom lip lightly. Slowly, and gradually, she began to move with him. Hesitation plagued every cautious movement, but inquisitive fingers trailed over him, before gripping the hem of his shirt to steady herself. The urge to hold her tight was overpowering, but he settled for gripping her hip instead.

She was warm and pliant and her mouth tasted sweet like some exotic fruit—mangos and freesia and everything delicious and something intrinsically her. He licked her lips, eliciting a gasp from her throat. He swallowed the sounds of her delight and let her fingers explore higher up his chest, resisting the urge to run his hands over every curve. He wanted to capture her lips in a searing kiss and somehow transfer the turmoil he was feeling to her. It was wrong and unsettling, but he was close to bursting and his desire was throbbing. Her arm slithered around the nape of his neck, and then he was carding his fingers in her hair, exploring its decadent texture as he tilted her head to give him better access.

He nibbled on her bottom lip as he'd seen her do so many times, and her eyes popped open, lips parted. Chocolate eyes stared intently at him, heavy lidded, but open and trusting. His jaw was clenched, preparing to be pushed away, but instead she tugged on his collar and hauled him forward, giving him a chaste kiss before darting her tongue out over the seam of his lips. Throbbing harder still, he ignored the stirring in his abdomen and met his tongue with hers, gripping her hair and her waist as he explored the cavern of her mouth.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The walls were tilting, or maybe it was the floor. _Why is the room spinning?_ Potter was closing in on her from all sides and her heart was pounding a nervous staccato against the wall of her chest. He was kissing her - devouring her - kissing her so deep she was seeing stars. Her right arm was anchored around his neck and her left palm was pressed against the inky blue of his dress shirt. She could feel the erratic rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Her brain went fuzzy. Something about this moment felt momentous, like she'd unconsciously made a decision of some kind. The gentle pull and tug of his lips, the delightful dance of his tongue, the wonderful pressure of his hand on her waist—eviscerated her concerns.

His hair was deceptively soft - better than she had imagined it to be - and she reveled in the feel of her fingernails scraping across his scalp as she held on to him. There was this strange urge to lay down flat and pull him down with her. She knew it was crazy and completely went against how she would behave normally, but she liked it. She liked the notion of grappling with him across the couch. She wanted very much to explore these cravings and the feelings he was stirring, despite the healthy dose of concern that was screaming at her to shove him away. She wanted him to keep going, to expertly guide her through these urges she was experiencing, just like he taught her spells.

Her pulse stuttered in her veins as he broke away to nip at her neck, and she bit back a whimper. Cheeks burning crimson, he pressed her into the couch, and she found she liked the pressure. Her desperation for him bloomed into a throbbing warmth between her legs. He'd claimed he only wanted to kiss her, but that kiss had evolved into something wanton and wondrously delicious in a matter of seconds.

 _But it's Potter,_ the small and unwanted voice reminded her. _Your tormentor._ She flexed her fingers cautiously over his shoulder, remembering that her strained magic was still buzzing between them.

It was Potter, or Harry as she'd called him during the throes of magical bliss, and she couldn't quite trust him fully. Weariness had taken its toll and with that came responsibility. Her thoughts slowly began to return, though she wished they would stay away. A quivering sense of apprehension at what she'd allowed to pass between them began to well up in her chest.

"Harry," she said with as much authority as she could muster. The effect was a bit ruined by the tremble in her voice. "Potter," she tried again, firmer this time. She needed to regain control in this insane situation she found herself in. Parvati would be singing for joy, right now.

He lowered his forehead to press against her own, his eyes fluttering shut. "Sorry," he rasped. "That got out out of hand."

"It's fine," she assured him, pulling herself away if only so that she could breathe without sounding like she was having an asthma attack. "It was...well...better than fine. Maybe it was the magic?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks, somehow more heat than had been there previously. He pulled himself up from the floor and sat back on the table, but he didn't agree with her assessment.

A part of her was waiting, waiting for someone to jump out and laugh at her and accuse her of being a loose-little-Mudblood. She expected some sort of taunting, someone, if not Potter himself, to throw this in her face. _The man has been single for a week and a half and of course he'd be looking for a rebound. You just up and offer yourself, why don't you?_ Despite her mental rebuke, she couldn't help but reel from what had just occurred. Her first kiss and it had been nothing short of amazing. All the more reason for someone to throw it in her face. He was probably regretting what had happened while she was making a valiant effort to regain her bearings. What he must think of her!

"I'd like for you to go with me to Paris this weekend."

She blanched, completely not expecting him to _say that,_ of all things. "To Paris?" she echoed.

He nodded, and she noticed how taut he held himself, as if he was only barely in control. Maybe he was a shapeshifter on the verge of morphing, the giddy side of her suggested. She tried desperately to quiet her distracting thoughts.

"You're not serious?"

"And why not?"

"Would you like me to recite a list of reasons? There is no sane reason why I would or how I could, go with you this weekend." She was immensely pleased at how steady her voice had sounded to her own ears.

A muscle clenched by his jaw. "I would like to take you. I think it would be fun. It would be much better than you staying here." His voice was so strained, it sounded like was on the verge of snapping.

"Fun?" She'd known him seven years, and never once would she have guessed he was mental. Surely he knew what would await her if she put herself in such a precarious position?

"Yes, fun." He listed his head, eyeing her intently. "I could protect you...and I promise you won't regret joining me."

Fear raced through her veins. Dear Merlin. He was serious! He really wanted to take her to Paris with him? The option was actually on the table. But what would everyone say if they saw her there, and with him? Surely she would be asking for trouble. Was this like what Ron was proposing but somehow sanctioned? Was he asking her to be...his whore? The words _so vanilla_ streaked across her brain. She had to be missing something here.

She blinked, flicking her gaze up to his inscrutable expression. Finally, she came up with a suitable question even Parvati would be proud of. "How many witches are you taking?"

It was a fair question, she was sure. The only explanation for why he could be asking her, of all people, to join him was that she would be part of a trio of witches, at least. Of course, she would have to decline, even if the man did snog like a fallen angel cursed to walk around men.

His lips curled in disgust. "No one. The invitation is for you alone."

Hermione would have cursed at that point, if she was prone to doing such things. Now what? She was once again, at a loss.

"I'll take that as a yes," he answered for her.

"What? No!"

"You'll need a dress to wear on Friday night," he told her as matter-of-factly as if he were delegating prefect duties. "All the other arrangements are covered."

"Harry!" her voice was shrill, pleading. "I can't go with you. This is some passing fancy you'll probably get over by then. Don't make me commit to this. You'd regret it!"

His face splintered into an angry snarl. "You expect me to leave you here with teachers who would likely take advantage of you before keeping you from being killed?" He got to his feet and towered over her. "It's about time you realize you're worth much more than you give yourself credit for. Haven't I been spending all of this time teaching you? Do you think I would do that for someone who wasn't worth the time? No. I don't want to see you cowering in front of your classmates. You're better than them. And if they try to gang up on you in any way, I'll be there to put a stop to it."

Oh dear. The conversation had definitely taken a turn. Now he was saying she needed to...act confident? And suppose he wasn't there to back her up if she actually did decide to turn her wand on the next person who accosted her? Oh, bugger. What choice did she have, really? Potter was right, the school wasn't safe, and going with him seemed to present with inherent challenges, but at least it was a different path than she'd always taken before. Perhaps the outcome would be different too.

"Are you sure you won't get in trouble for this?"

"What did we just discuss, Hermione?"

Right, the confidence thing. And he was calling her Hermione now. _Damn._ She wanted to tell him that maybe that day when he'd hit his head, he'd forgotten some of the important rules they lived by, and that she was sure he would regret bringing her and would likely make her pay for it later. "I have a dress to wear," she told him instead.

Some of the rage seemed to drain from his face. "Two days." He stopped to pluck his wand from beside her on the couch. "You will be packed and ready to go, won't you?"

Now he thought that _she_ would stand _him_ up? "Yes." It was all far too much to take in.

"Good." He offered her a hand to pull her up from the couch. "I'm feeling better about this already."

 _That makes one of us,_ Hermione thought blithely.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	8. Seasons Plaza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you to LeanaM for your insightfulness and helping me through each chapter. Tons of beta/alpha love!_

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Outwardly, she appeared calm, but inside a maelstrom of turmoil raged under the surface.

Parvati had already left before Hermione was able to deliver the news.

It wasn't as if she'd ran out of time. Hermione had simply let the afternoon dwindle to nothing until the last possible moment before she _had_ to get a move on. She clucked her tongue, sitting with her arms folded on her bed, and staring at the mess her roommate had left behind. She might have asked Parvati for permission to pilfer through her things, even though Parvati had previously given it. Still, it would have been proper etiquette to confirm she was still welcome to the discarded clothes lying in the corners of the room and under the bed.

She ran her fingers through her hair, before pulling it into a ponytail.

A ponytail, to Paris. That would be how she wore her hair for to the grandest event she'd ever been invited to. She clucked her tongue again.

If only she had the motivation to actually get up and _do something_ , but she was so caught off guard by the absurdity of the situation, she could do nothing but sit frozen, suspended in some distant place between reality, dreams and nightmares.

He - _Harry_ \- had offered to protect her. He promised to take care of her on the trip, and see that she did not run into any issues...but how could he make such a promise? How could he ensure her safety? Even more perturbing, how could she have agreed? Well...in fairness, there had been the unusual floating sensation that she could only attribute to _that kiss._

The kiss had been everything.

It was hot and hungry and _soul-crushing._

Hermione didn't know kisses could be like that. The soft pads of her finger tips flew to her lips at the powerful memory. It was so strange, to feel the tingling even now, but it was as if he had imprinted on her. That was how intense, how _invasive,_ it had been. For the hundredth time she wondered if she was exaggerating. The kiss could hardly be _all of that_. Despite her doubts and with them her assurances, Hermione knew the source of her riled feelings could be traced back to even before then. It was all the recent moments when Harry had done something to surprise her. There were truths she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt and yet, he had brought them all into question.

Harry was supposed to be her tormentor of sorts, a typical elite who cared for no one but himself. Since when did he intervene between her and a teacher...and even fellow classmates? Why had he started backing her up in class, and offering to tutor her because he _saw potential?_ Her feelings were already in a whirlwind of unease, and then that kiss had disrupted any semblance of rationality all over again.

It was highly disconcerting.

Because through the mayhem of feelings, she had told him _yes_.

There was no turning back at this point. Hermione could not begin to anticipate what would await her on this trip. Things could always get worse, and maybe it was better for her to stay at the school with the evil she knew instead of the potential evil she didn't. But - ever the Gryffindor - she had always been somewhat of a risk-taker. It was true, that side had been dimmed a bit, but it was resurfacing...with a vengeance. And whether she wanted to admit it or not, it was thanks partly to him. Harry was largely to blame for some of her confidence returning, for this new feeling of comfort, and that she was starting to be _herself_ around someone _._ It was for Harry that she had let her guard down.

Despite the fact that it could very well be another brilliantly devised plot on his behalf to humiliate her, she had a very strong sense that it wasn't. It was hard to explain where the confidence came from...her heart, maybe? But it was there and it was thriving and it was telling her that there were definite differences between this time and the last. Whether she allowed herself to or not, the trust between them was building. The shrewd, calculating part of her that doubted everything was shrinking. It was still there to stir up concern, but muted.

Her eyes fell to the discarded little black dress that lay beneath Parvati's bed. Could she even wear such a thing? It was so wholly different from anything she usually wore, she blushed just imagining putting it on. She needed something for tonight, the next night, and the next after that. She needed partywear, which she definitely lacked. She would just have to bring her regular clothes to lounge in, but there was no choice but to take Parvati's leftovers.

Jolted into action, she went to her closet and plucked an empty suitcase from the floor. She started throwing jeans and shirts and blouses along with any necessities she could fathom needing. She didn't even have any makeup! Hermione would have to face the crowd sans mask, as she didn't have any money to buy any, either. Traversing around the room, she collected three of the dresses Parvati had cast aside and some of her jewelry. She also nabbed a stray mascara tube and a pair of slinky black heels. Clicking the suitcase closed, she went to the stand-up mirror and stared at her gaunt features. She'd had very little sleep the night before, and no alone time to go over things with Harry.

What did one wear to Paris for a leisurely visit? Hermione opted to keep on her jeans and grabbed her nicest sweater—pewter grey with subtle lace edging on the hem and collar. She completed the outfit with a pair of tan ballet flats and told herself she was ready to go. Casting a last look at her vacated dorm, she made her way to the exit.

Harry was waiting for her in the common room.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Bright green eyes that could see far more than she felt comfortable with, sought out hers. Hermione bit her lip as she made her way down the stairs, slightly relieved to find they were alone.

"I was worried you wouldn't show." He frowned, as if the notion alone caused him grief.

She blinked in confusion. "It would be silly of me to turn down such a generous offer from _a friend._ "

Harry smirked, and she fought to untangle herself from his uncharacteristically gentle stare.

"It would," he agreed.

He extended his hand to relieve her of her suitcase, and she let him. Without another word, he turned towards the exit and she followed resolutely behind. Hermione prepared herself for scathing remarks from her fellow students when they saw her and Gryffindor's Golden Boy together, but the corridor was glaringly empty. She tried to calm the thudding in her chest as they left the Gryffindor Landing and made their way to the Third Floor Corridor.

A normal girl would feel excitement at this point - _not_ trepidation - but these weren't normal circumstances. She was equal parts concerned for her own well-being, and - to a degree - his. Harry had not been one to meet teasing at any point in his life. How would he react if the crowds inevitably turned on him? Perhaps he would not be _so keen_ to offer his protection any longer. It wasn't easy to be a pariah.

He came to a halt in front of a large statue.

"Gunhilda of Gorsemoor," she noted, then turned to peer at him. "The secret passage to Honeydukes?"

He grinned slyly at her. "Someone has been reading their gift."

Hermione blushed at being caught, and nodded, thinking fondly of the book he'd so flippantly given her. There was so much more information in the older version than in the most recent text, which she had memorized.

"We need to be out of Hogwarts to use the portkey," he explained.

"Of course."

" _Dissendium,_ " he told the statue.

Hermione watched, wide-eyed as the hump of the witch opened up to reveal a tunnel. _What a clever escape route,_ Hermione thought, chronicling the location for later use.

"After you." Harry gestured her forward.

It was a long walk to the cellar of Honeydukes, and they didn't speak much. The easiness that had developed between them since they'd started practicing seemed somewhat strained and she could only attribute it to the incident of the prior evening. _Sexual tension,_ a voice sounding awfully like Parvati echoed in her head. Hermione swallowed thickly.

When they entered the cluttered cellar, Harry dangled his suitcase on his arm and collected something from his coat pocket. She craned her head to see the silver, sapphire eyed snake.

"The portkey." He extended his arm to link through hers, and she stepped awkwardly against her own suitcase he carried in his other hand. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and he brushed his fingers over the eye of the snake.

Hermione was suddenly caught up in a surge of energy, stretching one moment and shrinking the next. The sensation of nausea mixed with giddiness was highly uncomfortable, and just when she thought she may hurl all over Harry's expensive Burberry jacket, the feeling abruptly vanished, and he was steadying her on solid ground.

Disorientated, she looked around what appeared to be a lavishly decorated lobby.

Harry walked up to a gleaming marble desk and gave their suitcases over to the attendant before retrieving his wallet, leaving Hermione to gape at her surroundings.

It wasn't like any lobby she had seen. The space was wide open, and so vast, it looked like you could fit an entire village square inside. It was bathed in hues of white, gold, and green. There was a giant tree with numerous branches that served as quaint staircases leading to all the different stories, so many she couldn't even count them in one glance. The wood was decorated with white flowers and shimmering green leaves, interrupted at some points along the way by various shops and restaurants. The ceiling was so high above her head, Hermione could scarcely see it if not for the numerous chandeliers dripping with crystals that lit up entire interior. Her previously building dread gave way to undeniable excitement. How she loved magic.

Harry came back to where she stood and dangled two golden necklaces with a glowing crystal attached to it. "I've got our key." He inclined his head to the numerous fireplaces - more dazzling than any she had seen previously - lining the lobby. "Let's see if the accommodations are to your liking."

Hermione bit back a snort. _As if they could be anything but._ "Aren't we going to take the stairs?" Her eyes roved over them again, delighting in the romantic picture the maze of luxurious shops dotting the stair-branches around the massive tree actually was.

"Would be a long walk." He craned his head. "I think it's more for looks than anything else."

Hermione pursed her lip. She didn't mind the walk.

"I'll make dinner arrangements in one of the shops and you can explore then, okay?"

 _Too perfect!_ The snide part of her warned _._ This didn't happen in real life, at least...not to her. Even with the reality check, she couldn't help but feel excitement.

No longer burdened with their luggage, Harry placed his hand on the small of her back and led them to the nearest Floo. Her stomach flipped at the simple contact.

"Room 705," he enunciated as they stepped into the hearth.

It was the first time Hermione had experienced this form of travel. The cool, green flames engulfed them before delivering them seconds later into another lobby.

"Now where are we?" She stepped out of the marble hearth and looked around at the various levels in this room. There was a courtyard in the center with a cluster of shimmering gold and green trees. The room was glaringly white, with cleverly accented decorations adorning it. The numerous chairs looked soft to the touch. Her ballet flats sank into the plush carpet.

"This is our room."

Her eyes widened. How in the name of Merlin could so much space be allotted to them? Another scan around the room revealed an expansive balcony with a view that upon closer inspection, revealed a rainforest. It looked nothing like what she would expect Paris to look like on the outside. It had to be a mirage. A beautiful white cockatoo flew into the open door of the balcony, effectively shattering that deduction.

"How is there a rainforest out our balcony?"

Harry strode over to where their suitcases were already waiting for them on a table. "Spectral Space Shifting Charm." He brought the suitcases to a large, white canopied bed she hadn't noticed before, two stairs up from the floor she stood on. Her throat went dry. Merlin, would they be sharing? Though, she supposed her entire dorm could share that bed and still boast of space. Vines adorned with large, glittering flowers opened and closed leisurely. "That bit of magic is highly difficult to perform, and illegal without a permit, but I suppose Seasons Plaza Hotel spares no expense."

"No." She let her eyes wander around the room, widening even more when she discovered the bathroom. The bath - if it could be called that - looked like a hot spring out in the middle of a jungle. The water was a dazzling deep blue and the bath was surrounded by lush plants and flowers. The bathroom sink was as long as their potions classroom, and there was a separate sitting room inside. "I never knew you could do so much with magic."

"Possibilities are unlimited." He darted a glance around the room, taking in the ethereal beauty for himself. As she had expected, he didn't seem as impressed as she was. "Want to freshen up and explore? We have some time before tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Everyone is meeting at Le Château at eleven."

Worry sparked through her at the mention of her classmates. She'd been so awestruck by her surroundings, she'd almost forgotten they had made the journey to this little slice of heaven right along with her. "Oh." She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. "Yeah...that sounds lovely."

His resultant smile seemed strained. Hermione forced herself to focus on the positive, of which there was an abundance of. Hopefully when it came time to go to the club that night, it would be dark and swarming with people. Maybe she could lose herself in the crowd and - dare she hope? - go unnoticed.

**~oOo*oOo~**

With the most beautiful symphony he'd ever heard wafting through the air, Harry could almost imagine he was safe, just a regular wizard enjoying his - honeymoon, maybe? - with _his witch_. The hotel had exceeded his expectations. _Malfoy has outdone himself,_ he thought begrudgingly. He hadn't even experienced such luxury as an adult when he was with Ginny.

Below the golden stair-branch they found themselves on, he'd spotted Derick and a cluster of Hufflepuffs from the Quidditch team heading into a chocolate store that boasted of the most expansive array of liquor fillings in all of Europe. He decided to avoid going down there, so he and Hermione went up the branches, stopping in front of an eaterie.

Wanting a quick snack, they went all the way through the restaurant and back out the other side to the outdoor seating. The tables and chairs appeared to be almost suspended in air. Low leaves dotted with fairy lights made up the ceiling. They took a table far out on the clear platform with a view of the massive courtyard and lobby below. He ordered a scone and coffee and Hermione got a fruit tart and cappuccino.

He tried his best to make her feel comfortable, but he suspected she was on her guard more than usual. It was frustrating to have broken through the wall she'd built only to have her erect another soon after. Harry knew she critiqued his every move, and so he resisted initiating physical contact, hoping she would not see him as a threat again and come to trust him.

The late lunch was a quiet affair, but Harry had been busy thinking up things they could do or talk about, so he was ready when they went back to the maze of branches.

"I've thought about training to be an architect," he told her, as they came to another turn. "To create places for people to go...like this...just seems like fulfilling work." He chanced a glance at her to find her eyes already on him and interested. "And a challenge."

"I didn't even know there were careers like this in the magical world." She curled her hand around the branch railing and stepped out onto a flat, stairless path. "They never talk about these jobs at school."

"Yeah. It's always the Ministry or Care of Magical Creatures or Curse-Breaking, but there are so many other things."

"I'm beginning to see that."

He adapted an expression of nonchalance. "What about you?"

She tightened her ponytail. "Whatever I can do, I guess."

"If you could do _anything_."

He felt her eyes examining him as he looked straight ahead.

"I suppose...I've always liked Arithmancy. Numbers and Runes and calculations are just so perfect because there is always an answer no matter how difficult the question." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "It's nowhere near as creative as, say, _architecture_ , but I could get lost in a complicated problem."

He frowned. "Arithmancers need to be creative too." He was pleased to find she was listening attentively and some of the tension had left her face. "You have to come up with a creative approach to solve a difficult problem, and with the answers, you can make brilliant deductions. You can even invent your own spells, charms, and the like."

Smiling, she nodded her head quickly. "Exactly, and I do love trying to think up spells. I often wonder which subjects I can combine so I can come up with something no one's thought of before. Merging Runes and Arithmancy with Charms produces the most powerful spells. Though I haven't really found suitable text on it at Hogwarts."

"You're definitely right." He shot her a wry smirk. "Take the Spectral Space Shifting Charm—that's at least five branches." He thought back to his previous life, and his chosen field of work there. "Yeah...I have no taste for Ministry politics or policing other wizards. I'd rather get to create something new and exciting."

"No Auror life for you, then." She grinned teasingly.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, content to see her warming up to him again. Hermione needed a positive experience in the midst of so much negativity. Maybe this weekend could be...maybe he could do that for her.

"How about this store?" Harry pointed to another intricately designed building, only accessible by floating slabs of white stone.

"A boutique?" She wrinkled her nose, unconvinced.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?" he said hazarded. "Wouldn't it be nice to get something from here, so different from the things we have back home?"

They began traversing the stones and entered through the sleek archway.

"It's couture," she whispered to him once they stepped in further, her eyes scanning the various dress robes and gowns.

He suppressed a laugh. "So? You should try something on."

Spurred by his prodding, Hermione allowed the blond witch with the thick French accent to measure her with her wand and pull various dresses out for her. Harry sat down patiently in a chair, and gave her an encouraging smile. He prayed to Merlin she would actually let him get something for her. He could think of no better way to spend his Galleons.

Everything she tried seemed overly done up and way out of character. She was a good sport and modeled them anyway, but he could tell they were things she'd never wear in public. There wasn't much that seemed to be her style.

"How about this one here?" The boutique clerk held up a little, pale blue dress. "Refined elegance. Silk. It will be a perfect fit, I think."

Hermione eyed the dress dubiously, taking notice of the much shorter hem.

"She says it would be a perfect fit," Harry teased. "Try it."

Her cheeks dimpled, and Harry knew she was trying not to smile. "Alright. But this is the last one."

Harry drummed his fingers against his dress pants as he waited, all the while making vague plans in his head on how to navigate through the difficult weekend. It was a dangerous line he was walking, but for the first time he was beginning to believe he could actually make this a memorable time for them both. They had everything they needed to ensure an enjoyable weekend, they just had to be sure to avoid certain people.

Once he heard the door of the changing room open, he looked up. He froze.

Hermione was wearing the pale blue number, and it fit her like a glove. The thin straps on the shoulders bared her arms and delectable neck to him. The flowing silk shifted as she walked, hugging each and every curve he had been forcing himself not to think about since losing some of his control the day before. His tongue darted out over his bottom lip. The dress fell to mid-thigh - distractingly short - and he couldn't help but sneak a look at her legs, so toned, tanned, and _gorgeous_.

He forced himself to look her in the eye and not at her body. She was gnawing on her lip like she did when she was nervous, her eyes impossibly wide and - his heart clenched - insecure.

"You should get it," he rushed out, wincing at the rough sound of his voice.

She blanched. "I'm not sure…" She trailed off uncertainly, looking like she wanted to rip the dress off and put her normal clothes back on.

"Perfect fit, like I said," the clerk couldn't help but chime in. "If you buy it, I can arrange a beauty treatment at the salon, free of charge."

"How much is it?" Hermione asked, alarmed by the generous offer that came with buying the dress.

"Eight hundred Galleons."

"Eight hundred Galleons!" She stiffened, glancing down the dress to make sure she hadn't somehow smudged or snagged it on something. "That's ridiculous." She charged back into the changing room.

Harry rose to his feet. "Come on, Hermione."

"Out of the question. That is a severe waste of Galleons. Can feed an entire family for a year."

Harry shot an embarrassed look over at the clerk. "Let me, Hermione. You need something nice for the weekend."

"What I have is suitable."

He shook his head in frustration. " _Put it on my tab,_ " he mouthed to the clerk. " _Room 705._ "

He jumped slightly when the door came crashing open. "Honestly...for a scrap of silk."

"Hermione," he warned, though all he felt was amusement. "It's hardly proper etiquette to ask for prices in a store like this."

She shot him an incredulous look, opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

He chuckled. His witch was a riot. She'd better get used to spending his Galleons, because he planned on showering her with gifts and making sure she was always pampered. Hermione wore that dress like it was made for her, and it confirmed what he already knew - she wasn't just brains and books - she was graced with incredible beauty she rarely showed to anyone. He would see to it that this was the first of many gifts she received this weekend. She deserved the best.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	9. Anyone Can Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Love to the amazing LeanaM!

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione felt tarted up.

The black Herve Leger bandage dress that was too small for Parvati was still very tight on her. The halter straps tied around her neck made her feel vulnerable somehow. It was far too short, punctuated by the heels that consisted only of a single strap and were an inch too high. She adorned her wrist with the silver and turquoise bracelet Parvati had also cast aside. It was simple and subtle and... _everything she had_. She'd performed the hair straightening charm she knew so well with practiced ease on herself. Her hair hung much longer than she had remembered it being. It swept past her shoulders and down the back of her dress. She grabbed a lock of hair and pinned it to the right side of her head. That was about as much style as she could come up with.

Hermione knew she was no raving beauty— _clearly_. But she had made an effort at least.

The last step was applying the mascara, which she immediately mucked up and smeared under her eyelids. Dabbing her mistakes away with a flick of her wand, she managed to get most of it on her lashes. Though they were all relatively subtle changes, the figure staring back at her through the mirror threw her. She was so dolled up, she could almost pass for one of Parkinson's minions. It had taken her all of fifteen minutes to get ready, but she may as well be walking out that door a different person.

Chances were, she would run into Parkinson and _all her minions_ before the night was up. She strapped her wand to a garter-holster on her thigh, just in case. She hadn't been practicing with Harry for nothing.

Taking a deep breath, she gathered all her courage to walk out the door with some semblance of confidence. Harry would be on the other side waiting. Hermione tried not to think about all of the looks that passed between them...the surreptitious glances...his innocent brushes against her. The man appeared to have some sort of attraction for her, even though the idea seemed like an impossibility in itself. He'd been friendly to her in a buddy sort of way since the night before, as if that could somehow erase the tension between them. Maybe he was worried he would scare her off.

But would he?

Hermione wasn't sure how she'd react to another one of his advancements. If the last time was any indication, she would be torn between fleeing and _melting_. Actually, she might be more prone to melting after actually allowing herself to do it the first time and carrying _that_ memory with her. It would take an Obliviation to get her to forget. It had been quite easy to relent, and very much _worth it_. Now Hermione was intrigued, and that was dangerous. The only thing that kept her back was her concern that she was again being somehow played in all of this. The notion was becoming sillier by the moment, as Harry had proved time and time again that he was a man of his word, but there was still that nagging voice in the back of her head that wouldn't quite let her relax with him.

She gave herself one last once- over in the mirror and turned for the door.

He was sitting on one of the white chairs, idly twirling his wand along his fingers in a practiced way, before he heard her arrive.

He looked up and his eyes darkened, as he leaned forward with all the grace of a highborn. His gaze strayed to the hem of her dress and she unconsciously rubbed her legs together. Sweet Circe, but his stare left a fiery trail in its wake. If she hoped she was strong enough to risk another _advancement_ \- if she should be so lucky! - that hope was shattered because she currently desired only to explore more of those feelings and sensations he'd summoned from her before.

Legs suddenly feeling like they were made of jelly, she wobbled in her too-high heels.

He got to his feet and strolled over to her so quickly it made her head spin. "Ready?"

Strained. Why did his voice go from rich and carefree one minute, to strained and rough the next? More importantly, why did she find his voice so unbearably arousing?

She gave a jerky nod and took the arm he extended to her, lest she make a fool out of herself and waver on her feet again.

He guided them to the Floo and Hermione tried not to inhale because _Merlin,_ he'd put on some cologne and damned if the scent rolling off of him wasn't meant to ruin a woman. She looked up from underneath her lashes to find his perfectly styled hair tucked behind his ear without a lock out of place. A pinstriped dress shirt peeked out of the collar of his black dress jacket and, by the Founders, how the man could wear clothes well. She suddenly had a vision of herself curling her arm around his neck and dipping her head to lick a stripe down the line of his jaw until she reached his neck.

A furious blush crawled up her neck at the entertainment of such a wicked thought.

She didn't know where it came from or how that struck her as a good idea or even if he would like something like that. She was no minx, and would get a resounding Troll if she ever took a course in the art of seduction.

As if he could feel her staring, he darted a glance her way before she could duck her eyes again. She couldn't look away from the intensity of his stare if she tried. She was trapped, and what was he seeing? Her wicked thoughts? Her stained cheeks? Her desire?

The hand anchoring her arm wound its way to her hip, and flexing his fingers over the soft fabric of her dress, he possessively tugged her closer. She made a sound of surprise when her head collided with his shoulder. All she longed to do was keep it there. She wanted to stretch and arch and writhe in his grip and where had such urges come from? She hastened her step to keep up with his pace as they entered through the white marble Floo.

Swept up in green flames the color of his eyes, she clung on to his arm through the duration of their short trip. How would she ever make such a journey on her own? She needed something solid and toned to hold on to, just to stay grounded.

They stepped out into a lobby made up of black wood. The lavish archways were accented by blue and gold crown molding. A blue carpet edged in gold ran the length of the hardwood floor.

The crowd of people clamoring to get into the tall double doors could have become easily overwhelming, if it hadn't been for the wizard on her side leading the way. He seemed to innately command respect and people actually moved out of the way for him. Even the way he walked was sexy—predatory yet casual. A giddy sigh escaped her throat.

Hermione could laugh at herself for worrying that he might inherit some of the teasing she often experienced just by choosing to show up with her. When he'd told her he would protect her, it was clear to her now that he was more than capable of following through on his word. She couldn't fathom how anyone would dare cross him, for fear of the intimidating magic he wore around him like a dark cloak alone.

He pushed them towards the entrance of Le Château with single-minded focus, as if the Elixir of Immortality could be found on the other side. They bypassed many clubbers in his pursuit to the front, before he finally came to a halt before the burly wizards who flanked the door.

"Ready to dance, Hermione," he whispered into her ear, tickling her and inciting little sparks of electricity to whisper down her spine.

She instinctively pressed her head to her shoulder, as if that would quell the fluttering feeling in her neck. In the dim light, his eyes appeared close to black as he appraised her darkly.

"I-I can't dance, Harry. Remember?"

Hadn't she already told him so? He'd said it was fine. He promised they could sit and he would get her a flute of Champagne and they would make their appearance for as long as etiquette dictated before hightailing it back to the sanctuary of their suite.

The dark inflection of his laugh sent shivers down her body all over again. "That's right. I do recall you saying something…"

He didn't appear put off or concerned, but she still felt guilty. Surely Harry could be going with a girl much better suited than herself. Someone who came from money, like him, who knew the ways of the elite, who dressed herself to the nines, and whose voice dripped with sensuality. He needed that sort of girl to entertain him, _not her._ She hardly measured up.

The idea caused her throat to clog with unshed tears.

It was only seconds later that they were ushered in through the entrance, and then...they entered another world.

The throng of people waiting to get in on the outside paled in comparison to the crowd already crammed in on the inside. The club had three stacked levels she could only make out when a streak of a speeding star raced across the enchanted ceiling. The ceiling appeared to mimic outer space, complete with distant planets and supernovas all moving before her eyes. The first floor was the liveliest—it was where all the dancers congregated. The top two floors that edged all the way around the room in a square shape had numerous loungers and seating around tables of shimmering bottles. Hermione saw a tower of hovering Champagne flutes decorated around a fountain in the middle of the lounge area. Extravagant lighting graced the walls, and upon further inspection, Hermione noticed fairies were trapped inside the sconce fixtures, their dazzling wings lighting up the perimeter in an eerie sort of glow.

Hermione had no time to be outraged by this, as Harry was pushing her further into the club and straight into the mill of dancers. She locked her legs, refusing to be swept up in the chaos.

"We need to cut through them to get to the tables." There was that whisper again, albeit high pitched this time, over the cacophony of noise. It was hard to keep her head upright.

Heart pounding in her chest and fear sparking through her at the presence of so many unknown variables, she gave a brief nod and allowed Harry to push her forward.

The music was deafening. So loud -impossibly so - and pounding through her skull. It didn't make sense. There were just too many instruments...too many harmonies...it was too electric or something. But somehow it came together to produce something other-worldly.

Her senses overloaded as she brushed against so many people in an effort to get away from the crowd. She guessed that they had so far managed to only get into the thickest part of it. Bodies were closing in on her on all sides, and she would have panicked if it hadn't been for Harry by her side, tugging her along, but at the same time balancing her so she didn't trip on her ridiculous heels.

She took comfort in his presence next to her, but then he suddenly wasn't there. The room began to spin. Glancing to the left and then to the right, she could only make out faceless people, so knackered out of their minds they didn't even notice the suddenly abandoned girl about to have a panic attack.

He had only been missing for a second before she found strong hands come up to grip her waist, and pull her back against a Quidditch-toned body with a possessiveness that overwhelmed her. Harry's intoxicating scent drifted into her nostrils and with it came a sense of safety.

"Anyone can dance, _Hermione_." The way he sang her name rang out above all the chaotic sounds. His nose scraped against her scalp before she felt the ghost of his breath on her ear again. "Just...move...with the music."

He pulled her against him harder still, and she gasped at the contact. His arms twisted around her until they rested on her stomach and Hermione felt her nipples go taut under the fabric of her dress. He was... _too much._ Moving her with him, he guided her in a slow rhythm, swaying both of their hips as he rocked them.

Spurred on by the patient stroke of his fingertips, she began to relax eventually, finding that it was easier to move in such a fashion the more at ease she was.

"You tricked me!" she couldn't help but tell him, but her voice was lost over the crowd and the music and facing the wrong direction.

She couldn't bring herself to be angry. Hermione was getting used to her heels and anticipating the movements he was teaching her. Moving on her own, Harry relinquished the pressure of his grip ever so slightly and allowed his hands to wander from her stomach to her hips and then back again. Bending her knees and straightening them, she learned how to move in harmony with the electric beat of the music, and soon it became easy to do so.

"Such a fast-learner," he crooned into her ear.

Hermione smiled at the praise and let her head fall back into his chest. He swiftly dropped his head to the crook of her neck and took a deep inhale of her skin, causing pleasure to spike through her body.

She bit back a gasp of delight as he continued nuzzling her neck...her jaw...the side of her ear...her hair...his hands constantly wandering in the same pattern. _So much for keeping my distance,_ she thought giddily. Comfortable, Hermione submitted to his ministrations...to the movement...to her heart. She moved of her own volition like she'd been doing so for ages. Pressing back against him, her breathing became labored. He would move and she would chase the movement, their dance evolving to something natural and effortless.

"So beautiful." His tongue darted out to taste the shell of her ear and she let out a sharp, short whimper.

Arching her back, she brushed against him, pressing up against something hard as steel. Her mouth fell open as burning desperation spread between her thighs.

" _Harry_ ," she breathed, reaching her right hand over her head to wrap around his neck. Her left hand trailed down to where one of his hands secured her and she placed it lightly over his wrist. He felt _so good_ moving behind her. "Oh, God."

"So fucking perfect," he told her, voice hoarse.

He dared his hands higher and Hermione flexed out her chest. _Yes!_ She silently begged. _Touch me there._ Her breasts were aching, and they'd never felt that way before, like she had to have them touched or else she would die. She brushed against him again, her dancing turning to writhing, and he growled in her ear. Rubbing her thighs together, her eyes fluttered shut. _Kiss me. Open your mouth against my neck,_ she silently begged _._ His lips dragged across her skin, pausing over hammering pulse points, but he did not swipe his tongue out to taste her as she was dying for him to.

If this was dancing, then she'd certainly been missing out on a crucial part of life.

Her body was alive and humming with need. She had the strongest urge to turn around and face her former tormentor, the man that had found new and welcoming ways to torture her. If she saw those sharp green eyes at that instant, she'd probably lose it. She was so tightly strung, she felt like the most natural course of action would be to snap, but with that desire came concern that she would lose all control, right here on the dance floor in a foreign city, in front of _the elite._ It was madness. _Harry. What are you doing to me?_ She breathed in the heady scent of his musk. _I'm going mad._

Harry was probably the most powerful wizard in this place, and he was choosing to be here with _her_ , above all others. He'd invited _her_ and he'd yet to even meet up with his friends. They'd wasted the day away, had an extravagant dinner high in the trees, and Hermione wasn't even thinking about the fact that she should be asleep by now. All she wanted to do was stay in his arms where it was safe and she could do anything. She could very possibly stay out the entire night with him.

He pressed his lips down into her neck, holding her securely against him as he did so. He dragged his lips back and forth, and Hermione braced herself when he opened his mouth, his hot breath teasing her flushed skin. _If you do that, it's over. I won't be able to take that, Harry...it's too much._ His fingers stilled, one hand on her stomach and the other at her waist, and tightened. The strain was back, the intuitive feeling she got when he was at war with his control was there. She was suspended in air and awaiting his next move.

"Isn't this cozy?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open at the sound of that voice. Behind her, Harry stilled.

The imposing figure perched a hand on her hip, her silver sequin dress sparkling under the enchanted ceiling and fairy lights, her matching heels an inch higher than Hermione's. Red hair fell in long, perfect waves down her chest. Though he was no longer whispering in her ear, Hermione thought she heard _fucking Ginevra_ uttered behind her.

"Harry." Ginny shook her head reproachfully at him with Hermione caught in the middle. "Have you gone and developed a taste for _trash_ since your breakup?"

Harry straightened behind her, but left one hand carelessly draped around Hermione's waist. "I'm sorry, Ginevra," he drawled in a tone she'd almost forgotten he was capable of. "Still reeling from _your_ breakup?"

"Actually." A wicked gleam passed over her eyes. "Blaise, darling," she called over the music, the sound of her voice grating to Hermione's ears.

The Slytherin in question broke away from a wizard he was talking to and sidled up to her. "What is it, my fiery little minx?"

Dread began to well in the pit of Hermione's stomach. In between the concern for herself, the thought of _poor Parvati_ flitted across her mind.

Weasley didn't answer, but merely leveled her cool stare at them.

The picture of casualness, Blaise glanced in their direction, before recoiling as if he'd been struck by a snake. "Holy fuck!"

Weasley grinned ruefully. "My thoughts exactly. Isn't this quite the turn of events?"

"Harry?" Zabini asked him hopefully, "Care to explain?"

Harry's arm went taut around Hermione's waist. "Explain _what_?" he spat. "What the actual fuck? Did you wake up today and start thinking I need to answer to you?" He jutted his chin in the air, as if daring Zabini to probe further. "Like I told the Weaselette's brother: I can do whatever the fuck I want. It would be good for your health if the lot of you remembered that."

Hermione's mouth dropped, right along with Ginevra and Zabini. Harry had thrown a threat into the air as easily as if he were reciting Quidditch scores. By the looks on their faces, Hermione would guess his friends were floored by Harry's aggressive demeanor.

"Fuck." Zabini threw his hands in the air. "Shit, Harry, you know I don't care. Just a bit weird is all."

The redhead turned her irate stare onto Zabini. "Really? He gets off that easily?" She wrinkled her nose at Harry. "I swear to Godric, anyone who can claim an ounce of House Black gets away with bloody murder."

"Don't be jealous, darling," Harry told her carelessly, as he begun pulling Hermione further out of the crowd and towards the stairs from which Ginevra had come. "Green doesn't suit you."

Ginny blanched, before recovering and shooting Hermione a look of pure malice. Hermione suddenly became conscious of her too-tight dress and tarted up eyes. The lot of them would be convinced she was trying to appear like something she was not. Maybe they would all accuse her of slipping Harry a love potion? Really, maybe someone _had_ slipped him one. It would explain the odd behavior and why he was suddenly over keeping up his reputation.

She could only follow reluctantly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and quite rumpled, as he led her up the stairs to where the who's who of the elite congregated on the much-coveted upper levels. She couldn't shake the feeling she was entering into a pit of snakes.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Everyone had backed off.

Everyone save Malfoy.

Even Parkinson - to her credit - was checking her disdain.

But Harry was under constant scrutiny from Malfoy.

It would appear Harry's choice in women was disconcerting to the platinum blond Slytherin. He frequently caught Malfoy glancing over at them discreetly, as he sipped his firewhisky. Harry inwardly cursed. Wasn't Malfoy supposed to be hammered, or knackered out of his mind by now? Why was he putting Harry under the microscope, that pretentious fuck. Perhaps he'd like to duel him, and challenge Harry in that way? He'd better not be making Hermione uncomfortable.

Harry attempted to appear careless and unconcerned as he sipped his drink. The picture of fucking ease and all for the Ferret's benefit.

He could bloody well kill Ginevra.

It would figure his wife-in-another-world would be the one to interfere—right when he was making progress! He had finally succeeded in getting Hermione to unwind...to let her guard down around him and... _fuck._ She hadn't just let her guard down, she'd _submitted..._ melted into him even. Harry's skin had sung at the feel of her so tightly pressed against him. For a minute she was free and no burdens had weighed her down and so he was free in return. What a vision she made.

In that hot little black number. Those high heels. Hair unbound.

Harry could kick himself. It had been good that Ginevra had shown up when she did, because Hermione was _letting him_ and she didn't appear to be stopping him anytime soon, and fuck...would Harry really have pushed it any further? Surely he had more control than that. She just had an intoxicating effect on him.

For fuck sake, they'd played chess all night after dinner! It had been - for the most part - platonic. It wasn't until she'd gone into that mansion of a bathroom and come out again - only ten minutes later - that the air between them had suddenly changed. It wasn't just what she was wearing, it was how she acted. Nervous...but _excited_. Like she expected him to ravish her, and he'd be happy to oblige. Looking at him as if she liked what she saw...as if she imagined what they could _do_. Harry definitely liked what he saw—Hermione was _a knockout._ The girl had it all and it was barmy that something so inconsequential as blood purity could be holding her back. Completely nutters.

Though, looking around the room, it didn't seem like blood purity was on any of the wizard's minds currently. No, that didn't appear to be a prevalent concern. Harry had invited her - brought her - _flaunted_ her and now the dumbfucks were finally realizing what had been there all the time. All it took was actually seeing her, and not just dismissing her as unworthy of being noticed.

Fucking Ron.

"Here you go, Granger." The ginger-headed failure passed her a third cocktail, as if he meant to get her plastered. Like he would then somehow stand a chance. "Just let me know if you need another." He flashed her a freckle-faced smile that made Harry's gut twist.

"Thank you, Weasley," came her soft reply.

Harry's fingers itched to wrap around her shoulders, stake his claim in front of everyone and let them know - just in case they forgot - she was _his_. There would be no sharing.

"Didn't see you all day," Malfoy remarked, arching a delicate brow.

"Are you my keeper?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

Malfoy smirked, as if merely amused by Harry's aggression. "You didn't meet us at the hotel bar like you usually do."

"I was busy."

Blond eyebrows rose to his hairline. The Ferret glanced at Hermione again and Harry fought back his rapidly splintering control. He took another swig of the firewhisky. At this rate, he was going to drink as much in a night as he used to back in his world. He needed to rein it in. But Hermione was drinking...and had she even tried alcohol before? Harry didn't know, but he didn't want her to overindulge. Though it did seem to be having somewhat of a positive effect. Her nerves had visibly calmed. She seemed much more at ease in his circle of friends even with their incessant gocking.

Thomas took out a potion vial and began pouring it on the table. To Harry's surprise it appeared to be in powder form. A sick feeling welled up in his stomach. Thomas flicked his wand and the powder formed a long line spanning the width of the table. He flashed a fifty pound Muggle note in the air.

"Who'd like to go first?"

His so-called friends clamored to their feet and took turns passing the note around and leaning down to snort the powdered potion.

_Fuck._

When the line was too far in the center, Pansy climbed up on the table in her tiny red dress on her hands and knees to take a large sniff. Harry watched, appalled, rapidly trying to figure out how to diffuse a potentially hazardous situation when it came to be their turn.

"Granger?" Pansy was the picture of innocence as she offered Hermione the rolled up note, as if she were a gracious hostess or something.

"Oh...um...no thanks." Hermione stared distastefully at the blatant drug use everyone at the table was participating in. "I have a cold."

Harry couldn't help but smirk. Clever.

Pansy gave a flippant twist of her shoulders and passed the note to Malfoy. Harry looked away, busy trying to build up some excuse.

When Malfoy offered the pound to him, Harry made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I'm good."

"Good?" Malfoy echoed.

"Yeah, as in _no-fucking-thank-you_."

Malfoy merely shook his head, casting him a sideways glance as if he wasn't sure who exactly he was dealing with. The Slytherin walked past Harry to the railing and peered down at the dancers below.

Sensing he needed to join him, Harry sighed and rose from his seat, shooting a glance at Hermione to make sure she was okay, but she was having an engaging conversation with Patil and didn't seem to be in any terrible danger. He walked up to the rail and rested his forearms against it.

"What's up with you lately?" Malfoy didn't bother looking at him as he stared out into the throng of people.

"Nothing," Harry assured him. "I'm just not into some things anymore. It happens." He shrugged.

"You were into those things a month ago." Malfoy turned the heat of his silver stare on Harry. "Do things change that quickly?"

Harry grappled for the right words as he met his friend's gaze. "I had a heart to heart with Sirius. He made me rethink certain pastimes I used to indulge in, that's all."

"Uncle Sirius said this?"

"In so many words."

"Did he also say to frolick in the dirt with a Mudblood?"

Harry grabbed Malfoy's collar so quickly, he barely had seconds to register what he was doing. "What the fuck is it to you?"

Malfoy looked more excited than scared. "Just curious. It's very out of character on your part."

Releasing his grip, Harry desperately searched for some line of defense that didn't involve pummeling his alleged friend. "Call it a passing fetish." He spat the words out like bile. "Besides, I'm finding out more and more about myself the less dependent on potions I am. I don't want to be dependent on anything. Being dependent is weak."

When all else fails, fall back on the truth.

Malfoy's eyes widened, as if slightly impressed. "I suppose that makes sense," he relented. "The Granger business still doesn't quite add up. I think your godfather would be angry."

"Sirius doesn't get angry. Besides, the only input he's ever had on my conquests is why don't I share in on the loot? He's not the type to care, Draco."

"I know that's true."

Some of the doubt had left his accusatory stare, and Harry felt confident enough to turn back to the table.

He instantly paled when his eyes scanned the table.

Patil was gone and Brown was leaning on Hermione's shoulder as if they were old friends. Greengrass sat on the other side of her, cackling loudly at something Brown was whispering. Pansy was sitting straight across from Hermione, their knees practically touching, leaning forward so much she was clearly invading Hermione's space. Hermione looked like she wanted to shrink into the cushion behind her.

Harry bolted for the table.

"So what is it, Mudblood?" Pansy was asking. "Slip him something like the dirty little Mudblood you are, or what?"

"Look at what she's wearing?" Lavender fingered the halter strap of Hermione's dress. "Bought it from a Muggle charity shop?"

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Hermione asked them pointedly. She tried to wrench away from Brown, which only sent her careening into Greengrass. "This charade is really getting old."

Weasley sat and leered from the sidelines, a crazed look of enjoyment plastered on his face.

"And this pathetic bracelet." Greengrass fingered the silver bangle on Hermione's wrist, choosing to ignore her. "It's not even suitable for a house elf, much less a witch."

"I heard your mummy is poor." A dark gleam passed over Pansy's eyes. "You have to use Hogwarts grants to get your school supplies." She pouted her lips in mock sympathy. "She's probably a drunk too."

Hermione stood so fast, the two girls crowding into her fell to the cushions with a surprised laugh. Pansy reeled back as Hermione flashed her wand and pointed it at the Slytherin girl's throat. Pansy sobered up slightly as she eyed the wand, raising her hands to show she was defenseless.

"Why don't you just sod off, Parkinson?" Hermione pressed the tip of her wand to Pansy's throat. "I've taken all the flak I'm going to from you."

"Threatening a Pureblood," Pansy drawled lightly, though her eyes were sharp as a talon. "I do believe that's illegal."

"Shall I take her place?" Harry asked, wand flicking over his wrist in a threatening gesture. "You can't threaten a witch, and not expect retribution, Pans, or did you forget we're on the continent now? Besides, I thought you promised to play friendly."

Pansy pushed Hermione's wand away and faced Harry defiantly. "She's a cow, Harry. And she's done something to you, I'm sure." Beneath the menace, there was true concern in her eyes.

"Or you just can't get over the fact that anyone, particularly a Muggle-born, can come after you."

Hurt sparked through her eyes and Harry may have felt an ounce of guilt if he wasn't so close to casting an Avada.

Something wet and cold landed on his shoulder. Irritated, he glanced up to see snow falling to from the ceiling. _Of all the stupid things._ The club was now raining down fake snow on the occupants.

"Everyone just calm the fuck down." Malfoy ordered, quickly taking over control. "And Weasley, what the fuck? You're really going to let them go at it and sit there and do nothing?"

"I love a good catfight," Weasley told them with no remorse.

"Let whoever wants to fight it out, do so tomorrow at the duels." Malfoy shook his head as if dealing with squabbling infants. "It's what _cultured_ witches and wizards do. Honestly, have some class."

"I don't think people can just wake up with it," Nott pointed out. "It's something you're _born with._ "

Harry felt his nails digging crescent moons into the skin of his palm. Malfoy took one look, and spoke to Harry in a low tone. "Take Granger home." The Slytherin tried to give Harry a reassuring smile. "And a word of advice? Spend some galleons on your side-quim before you bring her in front of these vipers. It's only fair to her."

Harry's rage pulsated, but there was no use taking it out on Malfoy. The wizard at least meant well with his unwelcome - but admittedly wise - advice.

Hermione still gripped her wand, but it was safely by her side. Harry reached to pull her away from the various levels of inebriated, fucked up idiots who infested the area.

"Come on, babe." The endearment just slipped out of its own accord. He saw Hermione flush red, just about as uncharacteristically red as Pansy became behind her. "There's a fucking snowstorm in here for some reason and it's killing the vibe."

Eyes wide as saucers, Hermione trailed behind him. She made a picture, navigating through the club with snow falling around her, Pansy glaring daggers behind them. The flakes vanished before they could stick to the ground or to the dancing people. Harry resisted the urge to run the two of them out of the club. He desperately wanted to return to the safety of their room. How could a night that had started off so perfectly ended in such a cluster? He was quite sure he had his fill of wizarding clubs.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	10. A Beat of Their Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A thousand thanks to LeanaM for alpha'ing and beta'ing this beast of a chapter. Your encouragement gave me the confidence to post. Any leftover mistakes are my own!**   
>  _Also, please note rating has been changed from M to E_

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

"This is bloody brilliant, Hermione." A sigh of contentment escaped Parvati's throat as she rested her head back on her chair. "I don't know what in Godric's name you did to Potter, but you did something right. He's bloody spoiling you, and me right along with you."

Hermione was sitting rigidly. It felt a bit surreal to have so many people working on her in a salon. An ointment was rubbed into her legs while someone else painted her toes and fingernails. The potion mixture on her face felt cool to the touch and heavenly. She was happy to have Parvati by her side, if only for a sense of normalcy.

"I told him no many times," Hermione was compelled to inform her friend.

The whole thing was a bit much. Harry hadn't said a lot since escorting her from the club the night before. He had slept on one of the divans while she guiltily took the oversized bed. No matter how she tried to tell him this was his suite and the bed belonged to him, he would hear none of it. She was forced to lie down and try desperately to keep the room from spinning. She'd indulged a bit more than she would have liked in spirits, and the buzz in her head would not go away. Eventually falling asleep, it felt like days when she finally woke up again. The rainforest outside was dreadfully bright. He told her he'd made her an appointment at the salon in two hours and he was going to run a few errands. It had been pointless to tell him she did not want to waste his money at the salon. He simply fixed her with a look that said he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Harry could be a bit scary like that. Sometimes he went out of his way to be so nice and make her feel comfortable, but today he was quiet and reserved and there was no bartering with him. She had not realized 'an appointment at a salon' would turn out to be hours of pampering. As soon as she was finished with one treatment, she was whisked off to the next. She also didn't realize Harry had arranged for Parvati to join her through it all, not until Parvati showed up and told her, anyway. She accompanied Hermione for every massage and every primping, and if she didn't feel so guilty wondering how much something like this had cost, she would probably be enjoying herself.

"I'm not complaining." Parvati rolled her head to the side, clearly enjoying their luxurious salon visit free of the concerns that plagued Hermione. "He couldn't have arranged for this on a better day! The hotel party is tonight, and it's bound to be the talk of the year."

"Oh."

"All those handsome wizards I met at Le Château will be there. Who cares about Blaise? Ginevra can have him, as far as I'm concerned."

"There were a lot of people there."

Parvati gave a distracted hum. "Say, Hermione, what happened to you after I left? I came back and you were gone."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, anger surfacing at the reminder of her altercation with Parkinson. "I got into it with Parkinson and her minions. It was nothing to worry about, though."

"Can't say I'm surprised. They were probably shocked to see you there." Parvati shot Hermione a wary glance. "Sorry," she rushed out. "It's just, you have to admit, it _is_ shocking. You had to know Pansy would give you shit."

"Believe me—I know how shocking it looks."

Spurred by her nonchalance, Parvati pressed on. "What _does_ he see in you?" She frowned in confusion. "No offense, Hermione, but I never pegged you for _his_ type."

"I have no idea."

"It's certainly quite the scandal." Parvati laughed. "I'm sure no one could have expected this to happen during Paris season, of all times. Harry Potter brings Hermione Granger as his date? It's unfathomable."

Hermione exhaled a shaky breath through her nostrils, and attempted to calm the surfacing unease Parvati was unconsciously rekindling in her.

"I'm glad though." Parvati took a sip of her champagne. "You deserve to join in on the fun every once in a while, _and_ we've finally figured out who your admirer is."

"Yeah. I suppose that solves that mystery."

Hermione quietly went through the motions, unsure of what she would be doing next. The skylights in the salon were starting to darken and she marveled at how long they'd been at it. How exhausting to go through something like this regularly! She wondered what Harry was doing. She wished she had brought a good book to read, but Parvati seemed content to fill the silence with idle gossip. She told Hermione who would be at the party that night and how exciting watching the duels were, and guessed at what spectacles they would see.

When the pampering finally drew to an end, they were ushered into another part of the salon for hair and makeup. Her eyes widened when she saw the light blue dress she had tried on the day before displayed for her, suspended in the air next to Parvati's choice for the evening. It was completed with matching silver heels that had one strap for her toe and another for her ankle. The idea of wearing such an expensive dress was terrifying, especially when she had made her thoughts on the ghastly price perfectly clear the day before. But Harry wasn't here to chastise and it really didn't seem like she had much of a choice. His generosity seemed to know no bounds.

Parvati shot her an envious glance. "Yep—you definitely did something right. I've never seen Potter so enamored with anyone."

**~oOo*oOo~**

The hotel bar was lively. Harry heard a plethora of languages and dialects through the noise. Just like the hotel itself, the bar was an extravagant masterpiece. He lounged at one of the wooden tables, on the last seat of the bench, and surveyed the boisterous wizards that accompanied him. There were probably about twenty students from Hogwarts crowded around the area and sipping on tankards of ale. Behind them were students from the American school, and in front of them students from Bulgaria. There were no witches around, as they were likely all getting ready for the much-touted party the hotel would be hosting later in the evening.

Harry was glad he had arranged for Hermione and Parvati to undergo the full salon treatment, as he imagined that's what all the other witches were doing. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to be embarrassed again just because he stupidly failed to insist on spoiling her as she deserved to be.

He fingered the slim box in his pocket, before opening it and retrieving the bracelet nestled within. His eyes roved over the glittering piece of jewelry, the white diamonds catching in the light of the chandeliers. He'd strolled through wizarding Paris all afternoon before finding the right store and then the right gift for his witch. It had been nothing to hand over the Galleons for the expensive piece. He thought of the girls that had teased Hermione yesterday over what she was wearing and he smiled to himself when he imagined what their reactions would be today.

"Who's that for?" Malfoy gestured at the bracelet in Harry's hands. "It's bloody obscene."

Harry quickly laid the bracelet back in the box and snapped it shut. "Who do you think?" He twisted his shoulders flippantly.

Malfoy leveled his silver cold stare on Harry. "You're going to give that _to her_?"

"You suggested I - what was it? - _spend some Galleons on my side quim_."

Malfoy snorted, and cast a discreet glance around the room before lighting a cigar. He took a huge inhale before exhaling the sweet, smoky substance Harry's way. "It's a bit much, don't you think? Probably more than her parents make in a year."

"You don't know anything about her parents."

Malfoy shrugged. "Still." He looked over his shoulder where Nott was talking to one of the Ilvermory students across the planter. "You're changing the rules." He turned back and Harry saw nothing but seriousness in Malfoy's usually mischievous gaze, all joking pretense dropped. "You know it, too."

Harry reached for his own cigar and cast a wandless _Incendio_ to light the tip. "Don't worry about _what I do_ ," he told Malfoy icily. "I'm having fun and no one's going to interfere, right?"

Malfoy put his hands up. "Right. What do I care what you do? I'm only pointing out that it's different now. You can't be angry if other people start being different too."

Harry frowned, mulling over Malfoy's words as he puffed on his cigar. What was Malfoy insinuating—that others would start to follow in his footsteps if he blurred the boundaries of blood purity? So what if they did? Perhaps it would be a good thing. At any rate, he didn't care about anyone else save him and Hermione.

"You planning on challenging anyone tonight?" Malfoy regarded Harry carefully.

Harry tilted his head as if pondering. "I don't know. Maybe if a match catches my fancy."

He smirked and this time he didn't need to fake the wicked gleam in his eye. Malfoy caught the look and smiled ruefully, seemingly comforted by Harry's return to his usual demeanor. Perhaps it would be fun to flex his muscles and remind everyone why they shouldn't question his decisions for the simple matter that it would be bad for their health.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione was on top of the world.

Literally.

Entering the top most tier of the Seasons Plaza Hotel was like walking into another world. The pool in the center of the party was dazzling and glowing a cerulean blue. It was so large, she imagined it to look more like a lake than a manmade pool. Crystal flagstone slabs covered a large portion of it, making up a dance floor of sorts. Floating plants housed fairy lights that dotted across the uncovered portion of the water. Long tables featured fantastic displays of food and drinks in overwhelming abundance. Trees stood like sentries around the perimeter of the party, golden lights strung all the way across to the trees on the opposite side, high above her head. Around the pool were various tables, chairs, and booths, some more private than others. There was a large stretch at the end of the pool with a dueling strip. She saw a Mahoutokoro wizard battling a witch from Beauxbatons. Giant flowers wove in and out of the seating arrangements that edged the pool in an ornately decorated maze. She could never have imagined such a venue in her most imaginative dreams.

"Want to dance?"

She pulled her eyes away from the scene to stare at Harry, who was studying her closely in that way that unsettled her. He held himself tensely, the picture of control, and she again wondered how she should act around him. He hadn't seen her the entire day as she'd slept in late to begin with. He'd sent her off to the salon with her only friend, and though she'd wondered what he'd been up to, he'd surprised her once again with that outlandish gift.

When he'd come to retrieve her from their suite, he actually stopped mid step upon spotting her. She had squirmed under his gaze, acutely aware of her masterfully applied makeup and done up hair as well as the way the new dress had clung to her figure. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but also _exciting_. She liked the way he looked at her, as if he desired her, and as much as her mind had been telling her to be wary of a trap, one look in his eyes sent her fear of being played splintering away.

He had strode up to her and she internally fought the urge to shrink away, but he only reached for her wrist and draped a dazzling bracelet over her skin before snapping it in place. _I can't take this Harry,_ she had told him immediately, the bracelet feeling heavy where it sat. _Borrow it, then,_ was his reply. But Hermione knew he never took back things he loaned to her. _Hogwarts, A History_ was proof of that. She would need to sneak it back into his luggage or else she'd be saddled with the guilt of accepting such a generous gift she had no business keeping.

They hadn't spoken much, and Hermione had fought to resist the magnetic pull she felt whenever she was in his presence. She just wanted to close the gap between them and never separate from him again. It was a scary urge to have, and it set her nerves on high alert. He was the picture of a gentleman as he escorted her to the party, getting the door for her and inclining his head to those that acknowledged them. His inky blue jacket and jet black dress shirt looked incredible on his toned figure. He was so handsome it hurt and he smelled faintly of cigars and cloves. The scent caused a surge of dizziness.

She was so caught up staring at Harry, she hadn't noticed the many stares she was catching herself.

Hermione did not recognize the people that shot her curious glances, nor did she notice the looks rife with sexual promise. They were students from different schools and for all they knew, Hermione belonged in this world, attached to Harry's arm as if she were a Pureblood princess. He had a possessive arm draped around her, making it clear to everyone that she was _with him_. The notion caused her heart to soar.

She felt drawn to his eyes and she couldn't bring herself to look away. Flecks of green were darkened to the color of a forest under nightfall. Drawing on all the courage she could muster, she nodded, finally deigning to answer him. "We can dance if you want to, Harry."

He caught her hand in his and led her out to the dance floor, and then she became swept up in the magic.

Aware of the water shifting underneath the crystal slabs, she allowed Harry to grip her waist. She trailed her hands up in return, until they found and lightly squeezed his shoulders. Though taller than usual thanks to the heels, he still managed to tower over her. She looked up at him, only distantly aware of the dancers flanking them. Her eyes were only for Harry.

His fingers slipped over the silk of her dress, rubbing her skin through the material and eliciting the most delightful sensations. She followed each and every movement he made as he led them expertly through the dance floor. The magnetic pull between them grew stronger. Heat unfurled low in her abdomen as her body yearned to close what little distance was left between them. Her fingers inched into the hair at the nape of his neck, testing it's silky texture beneath her fingertips. He closed his eyes in response.

Hermione was vaguely aware of the music moving quickly, the beat pounding, and the bodies around her dancing fast and hard, but Harry led her slowly in a dance of their own as if he heard a different harmony entirely. Underneath the coaxing feel of his fingertips and the heat of his gaze, she was sure she could sense the tune he'd discovered also, as if it pulsated between them and only they were privy to the secret melody.

For the second time, Hermione wished to be alone with him, just the two of them. She wanted to turn around and press her back against him like they had done before, just so he could whisper into her ear...ghost his breath along her neck...and brush his lips across her skin. But he held her softly and away from him, as if determined to keep the space between them. It was _nice_ , but not enough, and she stepped closer so that he had to adjust his grip on her waist. His breath caught and his forehead fell forward. She sighed in bliss, grateful for the closeness, yet still craving more.

He rocked her slowly, the only ones to be dancing in such a way on the entire pool from what she could tell, and Hermione reveled in his touch. She realized part of the reason for her vexed mood earlier had been that she was separated from him. Whenever they were together, it was as if all her burdens lifted from her shoulders, as if she was floating on air. His lips were so close to hers, and maybe she could get him to kiss her if only she angled her head just right…

Before she could complete the motion, he stepped away and dropped his right hand, grabbing her wrist with his left.

"Come on," he bit out. "We need to meet up with the rest of them."

 _The rest of them,_ she inwardly scoffed, setting her lips in a pout as she prepared herself to meet Harry's friends. So he would not be dancing with her as he had before. He was in control again, and Hermione wanted, no - _craved_ \- nothing more than to fracture his perfect control.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Holding his body tautly, Harry led Hermione through the throng of people and quickly located the booths where his friends had gathered to watch the spectacle that was the duels. _Make an appearance, and then we can be done with it. I'll make sure she has a good night, and then escort her safely back to the hotel… at a distance._ He dipped his head in polite greeting when his friends caught sight of them.

Malfoy waved him over and then froze when he saw Hermione. Pansy saw Malfoy staring and looked to see who had arrived, paling when she noticed the two of them. Her gaggle of followers saw their leader quiet and curiously looked to see what had captured her attention. Brown's mouth fell open in surprise. Ginevra's lips curled in thinly veiled disgust. Zabini gave Hermione an appreciative once over and Weasley's gaze darkened.

"What'd we miss?" Harry asked, forcing his voice light and easy as he took a seat beside Malfoy, pulling Hermione down with him. "Anything good?"

Nott squinted at Hermione, before turning to answer Harry's question. "It's two Durmstrang students going at it now. We're taking bets."

Harry scanned the duelers as they conversed with friends before the sparks went off, signalling the start of the duel. "My money is on the witch." He tossed a Galleon to the growing pot on the table. "I like a girl that's good with her wand." He slanted his gaze over to meet Hermione's. She gave him a small smile favoring a blush, but then her attention was vexingly wrenched from him when Parvati wedged her way between them and began talking animatedly to Hermione.

In his periphery, he noticed Pansy crossing her arms over her chest. He glanced over to see she had narrowed her eyes at the exchange, as if she didn't approve of Hermione having friends to consort with. To add to his growing unease, he saw a gleam of sudden inspiration pass over her eyes and then a wicked smile spread across her lips.

Pansy thrummed her fingers on the table. "I'm going next," she announced in a voice haughty and sure.

"You are?" Greengrass asked in surprise. "Who will you go against?"

"Whoever, it doesn't matter." Pansy examined her perfectly manicured nails. "I just want to knock someone around."

Harry accepted the flutes Dean passed them and handed one to Hermione. He poked her lightly in the side. She looked up, her eyes searching. He raised his eyebrows in response, tilting his head towards Pansy. She looked at Pansy and then back to Harry, realization dawning on her. She gave him a small smile.

"I'll duel you, Parkinson," Hermione said so softly, she almost couldn't be heard over the noise.

Excited snickers and gasps of surprise rose from around the table. Pansy's delicately arched brows rose to her hairline.

She fixed Hermione with a calculated look. "Are you sure about that, Granger? I seem to remember besting you every time we've met in the halls."

"You also have at least two other people helping you," Hermione pointed out, her face reddening. "How about a fair match this time? Unless you're scared?"

Pansy's eyes frosted over but she remained the picture of calm. "Alright, sweetheart. I'm sure everyone would find it _highly amusing_. I'm nothing if not a good sport."

Earnest table talk ensued, as bets for the girls' duel were bartered and collected, despite the current duel still taking place. Pansy was outraged when not only Harry, but Malfoy too, bet on Hermione to win.

"Sorry, Pet." Malfoy flashed a grin. "I always bet on the long shot."

"We are so going to take your money," Weasley informed Harry and Malfoy. "May not pay as much as a long shot, but it's a quick way to double your money."

"How about fifty Galleons?" Harry suggested as Pansy and Hermione rose from their seats.

Hermione eyed him warily, her eyes clearly saying _no_. Harry shrugged in return, his features serene and carefree. Thomas and Weasley exchanged looks before laughing heartily at what they clearly envisioned as a fortunate turn in events.

"I'll take that bet." Weasley threw out the additional Galleons followed by the others. Harry noticed Nott and Zabini did so begrudgingly.

"Come on, Granger." Pansy linked her arm through Hermione's as if they were old friends. "Let's give them a show, yes? I love your bracelet by the way."

Their voices faded as they left the booth and made their way to the Durmstrang student who facilitated the matches.

Nott turned around and told Harry conspiratorially, "I get what you see in her now."

Zabini nodded. "For a Muggle-born, she isn't half bad looking. Ow, Ginny!"

Harry felt his anger boiling.

"She'd obviously make a good fuck," Weasley said, surveying them all with a lecherous grin plastered on his freckled face, seemingly oblivious to Harry's rising ire. "I noticed that ages ago."

"Say, Ronald." The ginger wizard jumped at the sound of Harry's hands slamming down on the table. "What say we have a duel of our own? We can go after the girls." The smile he flashed should have been enough to send Weasley running for the hills.

The others snickered while Weasley shifted uncomfortably.

"You can take him," Finnegan assured him. "Potter's been too busy banging that hotness to brush up on his dueling skills."

Weasley wrinkled his nose and shot Harry a dark look.

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "Harry has the Galleons to pay wizards to do his dueling, but not the practice. Don't let him intimidate you."

"I'm not intimidated," Weasley said with a snarl. Then he looked back at Harry, a slight smirk tugging on his lips. "I accept your offer, but what say we make it a bit more... interesting?"

There was a sudden roil in Harry's stomach. Those at the booth turned their attention eagerly to Weasley.

"If I win, I get Granger for the night."

Harry snorted. "Fat chance of that happening."

"Scared you'll lose?"

"I won't lose, but I'm not bartering Hermione in this." _Fuck._ Harry only wanted to beat him up a bit - take out some of his aggression - not leverage Hermione. "Besides, she'd never agree to it."

Weasley grinned. "Let me worry about _that_ , just promise you won't get in the way if you lose."

Harry made a valiant effort to suppress the nausea roiling in his stomach. _He's a schoolboy - I have years on him - he's not a threat._ "And what do I get if I win?"

Weasley pulled up his sleeve and flashed his watch. "My timepiece?"

"Not interested."

"My broom?"

"Mine's better." Harry _had to_ fight Weasley, he couldn't back down now, even if he risked Hermione being angry with him. He could explain the bet away later. An idea began forming in his mind. "How about you call her 'Lady Hermione' whenever you see her, get her chair for her in class, and stand up in the Great Hall to declare how Hermione is better at magic than you, and you're not fit to so much as polish her shoes?"

Weasley bared his teeth at Harry while the table erupted in raucous laughter.

"I have to see that," Malfoy said. "Side bets anyone?"

"Are you scared, Ronald?" Harry sat back satisfied.

"You're on." Weasley stuck out his hand and Harry shook it roughly. "You'll regret making this bet with me."

Parvati shushed them. "Quiet, the girls are going next."

Harry pulled his attention from Weasley and watched Hermione step up onto the dueling strip, her wand gripped in her hand and her stance reminiscent of a wild animal set to charge.

"Granger looks hot when she's mad," Thomas observed appreciatively.

When the spark from the Bulgarian's wand shot up into the air, Pansy was the first to attack, shooting a series of stinging hexes at Hermione in rapid succession.

With a flick of her wrist, Hermione erected a wispy, white shield that easily swallowed up the brunt of the stinging hexes. Her defensive magic was inspiring. It was difficult to believe she could hardly conjure a shield just a few short weeks ago. She was a natural dueller.

" _Locomotor Mortis_!" Hermione leveled her wand at Pansy who quickly deflected her leg-locking-spell away, but it was so powerful, Pansy had to take a step back to steady herself.

" _Reducto!_ " Pansy shouted in return, recovering quickly, her curse rapidly approaching Hermione and splintering through her shield. " _Iterio!_ "

The tripping curse hit Hermione in the abdomen, and she fell to the ground, using her hands to break the fall and fighting to cover herself despite the short length of her dress. Harry was so on edge, his knuckles were white from the grip he held on the table.

Pansy fired off more spells which Hermione deftly avoided by throwing up another strong shield. She'd regained her footing and appeared ready to strike.

Then Hermione was on the offense. She conjured a small flock of yellow birds that flew around her in a frenzied circle. " _Oppungo!_ " The birds flew at Pansy and she had to duck to avoid them as they began attacking her face and pecking at her hair. While she was distracted, Hermione took the liberty to end the duel once and for all. " _Expelliarmus._ " Pansy's wand flew to Hermione's outstretched hand.

The Gryffindor stood proudly amid the ensuing cheers from the spectators. She smoothly slid her wand back into her garter holster. Harry grit his teeth against the sound of catcalls. Hermione dangled Pansy's wand in her fingers, refusing to take her eyes off of the Slytherin for a second.

Pansy took care to stand to her feet and dust off her black dress before striding over to Hermione. "Well done, Granger." She reached out her hand. Hermione stared at it dubiously before carefully accepting. As soon as they touched, Pansy wrenched Hermione's arm and snatched the bracelet she wore clean off her wrist - snapping the delicate chain in two - before reaching down to pluck her wand from Hermione and whispering something into her ear.

Harry's rage rose and it was all he could do to stay seated. Pansy walked back and he stared daggers at her, physically holding himself back from throttling the girl. Vaguely, he could hear Nott and Malfoy giving her shit for playing dirty. Hermione came soon after with a faintly sorrowful expression on her face as she gripped the two broken halves of her bracelet.

"Well done." Harry stood to kiss her chastely on the cheek before reaching for her bracelet. "Give that here." He set it on the table where Pansy and Weasley could clearly see it. He waved his wand over the jewelry without uttering a sound and watched the delicate chain repair itself. Then he swiftly got up and sat Hermione down in his place. He fixed the bracelet securely on her wrist, waving his wand a second time. "A binding spell," he explained. "Won't be coming off anytime soon." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Weasley shift uncomfortably at the nonverbal display of magic.

Pansy scoffed. "Sweet Circe, it was just an accident." She turned her sickly sweet gaze on Hermione. "You know I didn't mean to, right, sweetheart?"

Without missing a beat, Hermione answered, "I'm sure you wouldn't dream of it."

Harry looked to Malfoy. "Keep an eye on my girl while I'm gone, yes?"

Hermione blushed prettily as Malfoy nodded.

Pansy crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. "Are you two dueling?" Her gaze darted between Harry and Weasley. "Really? Harry, you never duel."

Parvati nodded, an excited sparkle in her eye. "Not too late to get in on the pool." She gestured to the growing pot. "And I thought your's and Hermione's was large."

"Speaking of," Nott handed a sizable purse to a stunned Hermione, "your winnings."

She stared unblinkingly for a few seconds at the heavy sack before shoving it under the table and into her clutch as discreetly as she could manage.

Harry heard the Gryffindors attempting to boost Weasley's confidence as he walked to the dueling strip and nodded at the officiator. He glanced over to the pool where at the furthest end people still danced, unaware of the duels that had somehow drawn an even larger crowd than before.

He sensed the moment when Weasley joined him on the strip, the wizard making a show of hanging up his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

"Remember the rules," the Bulgarian wizard said. "On my watch and no Unforgivables or fatal curses."

It didn't escape Harry's notice that dark curses were not signaled out.

Harry nodded and forced his body into a clipped bow. Adrenaline and rage raced through his veins, fueling him. Weasley regarded him darkly, waiting for the signal. When the blue sparks shot in the air, Harry stood still, allowing Weasley to take his best shot at him.

He felt more than saw the dark curses Weasley hurled at him. Harry didn't bother deflecting it, but merely sidestepped the spell, all the while taunting Weasley. "You'll rue the day you said those things about Hermione," he growled menacingly.

Weasley only sniffed, unimpressed, and cut his wand through the air again. "I'm not sure what's gotten into you, mate, but you've turned into a right _boring_ fuck. You don't even share with your best friend."

Derision flooded Harry's face as he shook his head in mock pity, staring down Weasley's attack as if it were nothing and dismissing his words. Best friend? _Hardly._ With a flick of his wrist, he deflected the spells.

"Is that all you have?" Harry smirked, his tone mocking. "I never expected much from you, but still, that is just pathetic."

Weasley began charging up his wand for a Knock-back Jinx. Harry took the opportunity to launch his own attack. Swishing his wand in a complex pattern, he flung his magic brutally towards Weasley, watching as the curse hurled towards the redhead. Weasley's face contorted in surprise when he recognized it and he scrambled to erect a shield, but Harry's strong curse cut through the weak protection and tore at Weasley's clothes in it's effort to reach skin. He crumpled to the floor.

The crowd gasped.

A fierce smile curled around Harry's mouth as he watched Weasley pathetically try to pull himself from the ground, undoubtedly feeling the cutting effect of his previous jinxes.

Harry cut his wand again, this time conjuring a fire whip that he advanced threateningly on Weasley. Weasley staggered to his feet gripping his wand tightly, just in time to see the menacing fire whip. Harry snapped it right by Weasley's ear, laughing darkly when he flinched.

Weasley swished his wand in an effort to freeze the whip, but Harry's own magic won out, his dark energy flickering around him as he pressed the force of it to heat through Weasley's freezing charm. He let the whip graze Weasley's face, smiling when he saw a red welt appear across the expanse of his already reddened face.

"Getting a bit hot over there?" Harry flourished his wand and summoned a ball of water from the pool next to them. "Perhaps you'd appreciate being cooled off?" He let the water cascade over the irate Gryffindor, drenching him completely before catching him up in a shifting sphere of water Weasley was hardpressed to escape from.

Harry's magic sang, only just awakened and thirsting for more action. Something dark and sinister clawed around his gut and he embraced it, relishing in the chance to be free of his strict self control for a change. He didn't stop to worry over the consequences.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione watched in amazement as Harry dueled with all the grace of a lethal predator, his movements as carefully orchestrated as that of a dancer.

 _Powerful_.

There was something about watching a wizard as powerful as Harry duel that got her pulse pounding. He was a force to be reckoned with and he was showing his strength in a way he seldom got the opportunity to do. Weasley had no chance with Harry. Harry didn't seem to be drawing from a list of spells in his mind, but was moving like he was one with his magic, swift and sinuous and in complete control.

"Holy fuck," she heard Zabini whisper.

He performed spells she'd never seen, like drawing upon the natural resource of water at his disposal to sweep Weasley up in a wet prison he was helpless to escape. Hermione could almost feel Harry's impressive magic dancing around him almost sinisterly, and her own scratched at the boundaries of her control, longing to come out and play with his formidable and intoxicating magic.

Harry vanished the water and Weasley fell to the ground, gripping his stomach as he attempted to catch his breath.

But Harry wasn't done with him yet.

No, even though Weasley was clearly conquered, he still rained down curses with deadly precision. His spell casting was elegant and focused. Weasley looked pathetic trying to throw up a shield. Hermione would have felt sorry for Weasley, if she hadn't been so excited by the spectacle. A series of stinging hexes ripped at Weasley's exposed skin, and the redhead dropped his wand to shield his face.

She heard Harry's cold and detached voice as he bent down to retrieve the discarded wand. "I suppose this means you give up?"

But Weasley didn't need to say anything. The Bulgarian called the duel for Harry. He watched the crowd as they cheered at such an exciting duel before inclining his head and stepping off the platform, accepting praise as he made his way back to them.

She wasn't even aware of Weasley scrambling off the platform and making his way back to the party, his pride in tattered pieces similar to the jacket he wore. She had eyes only for Harry, whose own gaze was fastened on her, and her alone.

"Granger is going to have a _nice Weasley_ to contend with," Malfoy commented drily, raking in the coins he was owed.

Hermione didn't pay the odd comment any notice, her heart rate steadily climbing the closer Harry got.

Zabini sniffed. "The Dark Lord's going to be pleased with this one when the time comes for his trials."

She could not make sense of what they were saying, because she was caught in Harry's gaze. There was something about him when he let his control slip and his power shine through that Hermione was irrevocably drawn to. She didn't stand a chance. There was no more playing nice or humoring her into thinking she had a choice in anything, there was just Harry and the clear evidence that he could make anything happen the way he wanted it to. He didn't need anyone's permission, he only acted like they had a choice. The notion was intoxicating, because instead of scaring her away, it only drew her inexplicably closer.

And she wanted him.

In fact, she _really_ wanted him now.

Her pulse throbbed at her temples and wrists as the adrenaline rushed through her. She no longer wanted to sit at the booth with people that were only tolerating her because of her association with him, she wanted to be alone with him again. Especially when he was through pretending. She hated it when he pretended. She didn't want an aloof Harry who kept her at a distance for fear he would break her—she wanted him _to break her._

"Harry, I—"

"Let's go." He reached for her hand and she accepted.

 _Go?_ She couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect of doing something alone with him. She wanted him all to herself, desperately.

"That was some duel," Zabini said, interrupting their exchange.

Malfoy nodded. "You were a bit hard on Weasley, weren't you?"

Harry flashed him a look, before helping Hermione to her feet.

"Don't tell me you're leaving already," Parvati whinged. "We're just starting to have fun."

But Harry was already pulling Hermione away and she had to look over her shoulder to reply. "Just going to dance for a bit."

She was going to trip, that's how fast he was pulling her! Didn't he realize she was wearing heels twice as high as any reasonable height? But she wouldn't complain, not if he was finally taking her away from these people.

"Harry," she tried again.

He slanted his gaze over to her, and it was bright with _hunger._ "I need to be alone with you."

Hermione swallowed, still riled up from watching him duel as well as from her own fight, and still feeling the effects of his powerful magic lingering in the air between them, as if it was too much to summon it all back at once. Instinctively, she channeled her own magic and pushed it out - just a bit - so it could brush against his.

They had barely reached the dance floor, and he froze. Hermione realized with a jolt of terror that her gentle touch didn't go unnoticed.

Swiftly, he spun her in front of him and started walking her forward into the crowd of oblivious dancers in an almost punishingly way. His hands swept down from her shoulders to her sides, eliciting shivers _. Yes!_ She silently rejoiced. This is what she wanted. Harry, not on his best behavior, touching her as she longed for him to.

The floating sensation was back, and she wasn't sure she would be able to dance at all. She couldn't distinguish the music above the loud hammering of her heart. Something hot and tingling pulsated between her legs, driving her to seek purchase in the powerful man behind her. His right hand tangled in her extravagant updo, lightly squeezing her neck before tilting back her head. The hand on her hip held her firmly. Her eyes fluttered shut when she felt his lips on her neck, brushing the pulse point just over her jugular.

"Harry—" But what she was going to say died when she felt his tongue meet her skin, licking, then progress to sucking.

" _Just_ ," he whispered against her neck, "need to be close to you...for a little while."

If she had the sentience, Hermione would have told him she wanted more than just _a little while_ , but just then he stepped his right foot between her legs and she jumped. His fingers tightened in her hair as he continued the attack on her neck. Her nipples strained against the silk of her dress as she fought the urge to throw her head back and forget about the fact that they were on a dance floor surrounded by people.

His left hand pushed down on her hips. " _Dance_ , Hermione." His voice was so rough, she barely recognized it. "I thought you wanted to dance."

With her practically sitting on his leg, unable to see him or discern what he was up to from this angle? Panic churned in her stomach along with every other emotion he'd summoned.

" _Dance_ ," he told her again, this time tasting her ear.

She tentatively shifted her hips, eyes widening in surprise at the delightful friction from that spot between her thighs which grew hotter by the second. She gasped.

"Yes," he purred, and the sound sent jolts of pleasure careening through her veins. "That's it."

It was terribly lewd, and she was sure it was wrong on so many levels, but she couldn't help listening to Harry. She moved over his leg, brushing him from behind every time she twisted with the music. The feeling that had only been a delightful buzz before, was becoming impossible to ignore. She rested the back of her head against his chest and arched her back, writhing against him because it felt _right_ to. Delighting in the feel of his warm hand gliding over her waist, a soft mewl escaped her throat. The heat in her abdomen expanded to her chest and then she was suspended in delicious anticipation, unable to stand still as he continued his assault on her neck.

"Harry!" she warned, but why, she wasn't sure. She wanted something she couldn't quite put a finger on. Her vision was closing in to him, the man moving behind and under her.

"Fuck." He spun her around and she wobbled, letting out a cry of despair at the absence of his leg. She saw no green in his eyes now, only darkness. "I _can't_ get enough of you."

Why must he tell her things that sent her pulse rocketing? She needed to prepare herself for this madness, warn herself at the very least. She whimpered, lost and unsure what to do.

"Don't do that!" He rocked back on his heels and ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I just don't have the discipline."

His dark eyes were smoldering, and she could just imagine seeing his desires and wants. They were like two endless tunnels that sucked her in. The way he looked at her caused her skin to tingle—the man consumed her! If they ever pulled apart, Hermione was sure she would slide to the floor in a boneless heap.

She bit her lip and his eyes flew to her mouth, his tongue darting out to lick his own. "I need…" His fists clenched in the fabric of her dress. " _Just another taste_."

His lips crashed down on hers and she trembled into his chest. Her hands became caught between them both. His hand came up to tilt her head in an effort to give him better access. His other hand flew to the small of her back, pressing her against him. She didn't stop to worry that they were kissing in public, not when her body sang with sweet relief.

She curled against him and allowed his essence to sweep over her. His lips were brutal and demanding, as if he wanted something more, just like she did, lacing fire through her mouth. She slipped her hands from their prison and anchored herself around his neck, delighting in the sudden closeness. His magic prickled at her skin, teasing her and prompting her to wriggle.

"Stop moving," he practically groaned, his grip on her tightening.

She lurched away as if burned. What had she done wrong? It felt _good_ to move, but it didn't for him? His eyes were hooded slits of obsidian. Her breath came to her in shallow spurts. Her eyes were open and pleading, but for what, she didn't know.

"H-Harry," she managed to croak out. "I want to be with you...just you."

His face tensed as if grappling with some internal dilemma, and then he seemed to have come to a decision. He regarded her differently - strangely - as if determined to do something uncharacteristic for them both. "Let's go." He took her hand and pulled her from the party. She allowed him to, marveling at the change in him and wondering what was going to happen. She was restless, and she needed _more_. The desire that had swept between her legs was impossible to ignore. The need bleating between the slopes of her thighs was all she could focus on. Her craving for him extended to that mysterious part of her, that powerful part that seemed to have wiped clean the slate of her mind.

When they reached the Floos in the foyer, Hermione yelped as Harry picked her up in his arms and carried her into the hearth. A spark of green flames ignited around them and transported them to another, more familiar hearth.

Their room.

He didn't set her down but continued to the lounger by the cluster of golden trees.

"Harry...what—"

"Sh," he hushed her, sitting himself down against the lounger and pulling her back against his chest until her legs were completely lying on the cushion in between his own. He shrugged off his dress jacket and sent it sailing to the floor. "I want to do something for you."

Sitting against him, she could no longer deny the evidence of his arousal and watched entranced as his fingers danced around her silk-clad stomach.

"Did I tell you how lovely you look tonight?" He tucked a loose strand of hair that had fallen from her updo behind her ear. "In that dress... _fuck,_ " he shifted his hips suddenly and she gasped. "You have no idea what a sight you are."

Her chest rose and fell erratically. A sudden doubt began to nag at her. Was this when he would suddenly humiliate her in front of everyone? "Harry, I'm not sure—"

He hushed her again. "Don't worry." The fingers on her stomach danced lower to the hem of her dress. It had ridden up her thighs, and Hermione tried to pull it down when she noticed it. He chuckled. "Tonight isn't about me, I just want to make _you_ feel good."

She gulped.

"Is that okay?" His fingers played at her hem, and the familiar feeling of heat pulsing between her legs picked up in tempo. "Do you trust me?"

 _No!_ Part of her screamed. _Yes_ , another part begged. She remembered the way their magic had brushed against each other. "I think so…" she said instead.

"It will be fine, I promise. I want to take care of you." He didn't sound quite sound like Harry, but like someone else all together.

His left hand left her legs and she tensed when she felt his fingers flick over a tented nipple. The feeling sent even more heat to her abdomen, if that were possible. Her breath quickened.

"It's okay." He pinched her and her eyes screwed shut as her head fell back of its own volition. He shifted under her instinctively. "It's okay," he chanted again, as if convincing himself. His hand curled around her breast and kneaded it. Her legs fell open, resting against his as a whimper tore from her throat. His hand moved across her chest skillfully, and she found her concern dwindling. Maybe he was setting her up, but sweet Circe, it felt so good. It was probably why she hadn't noticed his right hand sneak up beneath her dress, not until he brushed against the cloth of her knickers, and she wrenched herself forward as much as she could in utter surprise.

He didn't move a muscle, only held her still. "Harry? Why are you…"

He sighed and leaned down to nuzzle her ear. "I told you," he whispered. The hand over her chest guided her back down slowly. " _Trust me_." His fingers whispered over the soft flesh of her inner thigh and he began kissing her neck, probably to distract her, and it was working. Hermione tried to get hold of her breath, attempting desperately to see clearly enough to decide if this was okay, if she should allow this to even be happening. Her eyes fell to the movement under her dress, but got distracted by the way the muscles rippled in his forearm as his fingers flexed somewhere beneath the fabric. The most powerful wizard in this building, and he was with her, his wand hand working furiously under her dress.

His fingertips pressed along the seam of her knickers, shooting a thrill of desire sparking through her body. She was still a little unsure, but she felt a titillating sense of pleasant anticipation. His left hand trailed up her dress to the thin straps by her shoulders and swept the material down her arms. He licked a line from her neck to her exposed shoulder, his other hand still hidden from her underneath her dress. He brushed against a spot through her knickers that had her bucking into his hand. To her utter horror, a moan wrenched itself from her lips.

"It's okay," he told her, his voice so gravelly she would never have recognized it as belonging to him. "It's normal to _feel_ , Hermione. Let yourself." His left hand tightened around her waist, holding her still even as she moved. His right hand rubbed her faster, and then she felt wetness pooling between her legs, spurring her to press her legs together. "Spread your legs." She immediately did as he bid and let them rest against his outstretched ones. " _Good girl_." She preened at the endearment, wanting nothing more but to receive more praise from the man that held her teetering over the precipice of something unknown but exciting. Emboldened, he pressed harder over the cloth, letting it drag in her slickened folds before circling up to that spot that had sounds she'd never made before fleeing her lips.

"I'm going to touch under now," he told her roughly. She made a sound of protest, but he shook his head in her neck, his breathing rough. "Yes, you're going to let me because you trust me, remember?" She sank her teeth in her bottom lip and braced herself for him to deliver on his promise. What if this was all a joke, a setup of some kind? What if her classmates would burst in any moment to make fun of the loose-Mudblood who was randy enough to open her legs for Potter? Perhaps this was the culmination of all her fears, the purpose for all his strange behavior so far, and she was getting ready to be humiliated far worse than she had in sixth year. What if…" _Ah_!" she gasped and _squirmed_. His finger slipped between her folds and continued rubbing her as before, but under her knickers made a world of difference. Thoughts rapidly fled her mind.

" _Oh god_ , Hermione," Harry panted against her neck. "Oh fuck. You feel _so good_." Another snap of his hips. "I need this." He worked her expertly, playing her like a skilled composer and hitting all the right notes. In no time, he had her writhing against him, her head thrashing against his chest. He held her tightly as she bucked against him. Hermione felt a coil of tension stretching low in her abdomen, pulling itself suddenly taut. She got the impression that if it snapped, she would be thrown off the edge of a cliff and into some deep cavern that knew no bounds.

Her legs closed around his hand, locking him there shamelessly as she continued to shift around his fingers. He brought her to the brink so many times, only to wrench her back just when she might blessedly fall over. It was frustrating and she told him so. She threatened him to please _help her_ , to give her what she needed, and then she resorted to begging. "It's alright, love." His arousal felt like burning steel under her as she continued twisting in her desperate search to quell her own burning need. "I need to hear those sounds, make them for me." He pushed a finger inside of her and she arched her back wildly, her desire throbbing.

She was past the point of no return. If her classmates came bursting through the door right at that moment, she would be helpless but to beg him to continue, despite onlookers who meant to humiliate her. It would be mortifying, but she _needed_ to reach her pleasure. She no longer cared. The blinding, white, hot need eviscerated any shred of discipline she could hope to draw from. She was losing control and she would give anything for Harry to bring her to that place of bliss she desperately sought.

Through her movement, he continued to work her, stroking her tenderly and edging her toward the delirium only he could grant her. "A trick," she gasped, when he continued to cruelly guide her to the edge only to deprive her from release seconds later. "You're tricking me."

"No, Hermione." His left hand drew firmly over her half exposed breast. " _Never a trick_." Her eyes fell open to look at his arm, which flexed and moved, his hand so far up her dress she reddened furiously. The sight was obscene and made her hotter still. "I just want to make it good for you… that's all… _so good_." He moved under her again and she pushed back against him, seeking friction from any source she could find. She found if she clenched around his finger, the coil grew tauter and he would groan against her neck in response, the sound traveling straight to where they were joined. His free fingers circled the bundle of nerves that drove her crazy, but it was the things he told her that ultimately sent her over the edge. Later on, she'd wonder if she heard him correctly, or if she was too lost in her desire to remember it right.

He drove his finger deeper into her and moved expertly. All the while he whispered things into her ear. "So gorgeous… so beautiful… so smart. You've no idea how _badly I want you_ … how hard I am for you. Do you feel me through that pretty little dress of yours? Because that isn't even the half of it." Her whole body shuddered and her head felt like it was splitting as the coil stretched and the edge of reason swam up to meet her. He bucked against her as if to drive home his point. "You're so _wet and tight_ for me...so ready for me...next time...but... _fuck..._ you drive me wild. I want you so bad it hurts...and it won't go away...I'll want you _always._ " An expert swirl of his fingers and then she could feel herself begin to come apart. "Come for me, Hermione...say my name when you do...I want you to know it's me that makes you feel this way and only me...say my name."

" _Harry_ ," she chanted, saying his name over and over like a supplication. The coil of tension snapped and sent her careening into the mysterious abyss as her inner walls clenched around him. She screamed his name as wave after wave took her, blissful rapture searing through her body like a powerful spell. He held her to him forcefully as she arched through her pleasure, his breathing wild and erratic against the skin of her neck.

It was long and drawn out and seemed neverending. Even when she began to feel herself coming down from her high, she still felt the aftershocks of her pleasure. She was uncomfortably wet. Her knickers were soaked through, and as normal feeling returned, so did her nerves and embarrassment.

"Oh my god." She snapped her legs together and sat up straight.

Harry leaned down to kiss her still bared shoulder. "Don't do it, Hermione."

"Do what?"

"Overthink it. You were beautiful and what we shared was beautiful. Understand?"

She swallowed down her doubt and nodded. Then reaching for all the courage she could muster, she turned around and found the bulge in Harry's trousers, curling her hand around it, but unsure what to do next.

He hissed and reached to grip her wrist harshly, effectively stalling her hand. "Don't," he bit out sharply. "Tonight's for you, remember?"

Surprise flooded her face. "You don't want me to...do _that_ for you?"

He removed her hand and tucked it by her side, before reaching to pull up first one strap of her dress, then the other. "Of course I do. But I promised this was for you. I promised you could trust me, and I'm not going back on that, okay?"

She exhaled a shaky breath. "Okay." It still didn't make sense to her why he wouldn't expect her to return the favor. Maybe she wasn't that experienced, but she could learn. She would learn happily... _for him._

"You can have the bed." He got up from the lounger and adjusted his immaculate clothes, wincing as if in pain. "I'll sleep here."

Hermione crossed her arms angrily. "No." He looked up, surprised. "I want us to share the bed." She slid her eyes to the monstrous piece of furniture that was far too lonely to occupy one person. "It's big enough for both of us and this is your suite."

"I don't think it's a good idea we share a bed right now."

Heat crawled up her neck and trailed up her cheeks.

"Besides, I don't mind."

"Well maybe I do." _Shut up, Hermione. Don't say it!_ But she didn't listen to her own advice. "Maybe...after something like that...I'd like to be close with you." She ducked her eyes, afraid to look at him, but she felt the heat of his gaze all the same.

"You're a cuddler, huh?"

She darted her eyes up to look at him and noticed the teasing but slightly strained smile gracing his lips. She nodded.

"Alright, Hermione. If you want me to _hold you._..just let me take a cold shower first." The teasing lilt left his voice as he studied her seriously. "Whatever you want, Hermione, I'll always oblige."

She swallowed thickly, pleased at his willingness to give in to her wishes. He turned and left for the bathroom, and Hermione went to her luggage in order to find a camisole and sleep pants for bed. She laid the clothes outside of the bathroom door and waited her turn to take a shower. Above her somewhere, the party was likely still raging, but Hermione was happy to be here with Harry. She smiled as she thought about how much she enjoyed herself tonight. There was still another night away from Hogwarts to look forward to, and she had successfully got Harry to let his guard down around her. She preferred him without said guard in place. There was no more lying to herself - despite her best efforts - she was completely enamored with the man. Against her better judgment, she entertained the heart stopping thought— _maybe it wasn't such a bad thing._

**~oOo*oOo~**


	11. DTR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Beta love to the lovely LeanaM Xx**

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione was not an optimist by nature. She liked to think she made her decisions logically and had a reasonable outlook on life.

Even though the four days she'd spent with Harry had been something out of a dream - even though her interactions with students from other schools had revealed to her not the entire world was driven by blood purity - she still expected for things to go back to normal upon returning to Hogwarts. Her tormentors had tolerated her presence with little to no disdain. Honestly, it might even be fair to say they had warmed up to her considerably. Ever since Harry's duel with Weasley, the group seemed to go out of their way to be nice to her. The change was so shocking, Hermione was not entirely sure how to deal with it.

She was beginning to feel so comfortable, she had even met and interacted with new people. Students from foreign schools, mostly, that she would run into at parties or restaurants, but they treated her no differently than anyone else. Hermione was quiet for the most part where discussions were concerned, but when she did add to the conversation she felt wholly welcomed and there was no feeling of being mocked in any way. Harry had not left her side except for when she had joined Parvati on a shopping trip with the girls. Girls that only a week prior had tried to throw hexes her way.

Her guard stayed in place, of course, but even so, there was no denying she had enjoyed herself during the trip.

Harry was ever the gentlemen, and, to her disappointment, did not try to go further than he had the night of the hotel party. Blast it all, but the man was near impossible to read! He was always so controlled except for the rare times he wasn't and Hermione decided those were the times she liked best. In fact, she would go as far as to admit she lived for the times when he let his control slip. It was always so exciting - so powerful - and she never knew what he was going to do next.

Hermione had been sure she would hate every minute of that weekend in Paris, but it had been magical, and now it was over. She and Parvati had only just finished unpacking their things. To her profound shame, she had come back with quite a few things more than she had left with. Of course there was the little blue number that she did not see herself wearing again in the near future, and the magically bound bracelet Harry had insisted she wear the entire weekend, but there were also the purchases she made whilst on her girls' trip. She'd bought a pair of bohemian sandals, sunglasses, a fall sweater, and designer jeans. She even got a purse for her mother, though she grimaced whenever she thought of how she would explain bringing home the name brand bag. Surely her mum would want to know all the details, and Hermione would have to confess that a boy bought it for her, at which point Jean would launch into a tirade about how Hermione should milk him for all he was worth.

Guilt clawed at her stomach when she thought about the new items she now owned. She may have used her own winnings to make the purchases, but she had no right to, not when she should have handed them all over to Harry _and then some_ in a vain attempt to pay him back for the dress, clutch, and shoes. But the man was ridiculously hard-headed. Forget trying to correct her debts, he wanted her to use _his account_ at the stores she and the girls visited and he was very adamant about it. He seemed almost insulted that she wanted to use her own money - money that should have been handed over to him - instead of taking him up on his offer and it left her wondering what exactly this thing between she and Harry was. She tried to console herself with the fact that she didn't take advantage of his abundant generosity, but she and Harry really needed to have a discussion. Of course, no matter how often she recited the words in her head, she couldn't seem to ever come out and ask him. And with him keeping his distance again after the night of the party, she was left more confused than ever by the end of the weekend.

Shoes shuffling through the halls, she turned to face Parvati. "I think I'll go to the library for dinner."

"Don't be daft, Hermione!" Parvati eyed her with disapproval. "We've just gotten back and classes start again tomorrow. You'll want to see everyone. And they want to see you. I'm a Seer - I know these things - remember?"

Hermione didn't bother telling her what little she thought of divination. She gulped, wondering how things would be now that they were back at Hogwarts. Everyone had seemed to momentarily forgotten their blood purity issues but Hermione wasn't sure that would last now they were back here.

Parvati didn't let her falter, but instead linked her arm through Hermione's and more dragged than pulled her to the Great Hall.

When they arrived, the place was buzzing with lively conversation. All the students were dishing about their weekend away, from what she could tell.

"Honestly, Hermione," Parvati cast her eyes skyward. "You're my ticket to the popular crowd, and you want to hide in the library."

Hermione wanted to warn the girl that she was hardly a suitable ticket to anything resembling popularity but thought better of it.

"You'd think Padma would tap into that," she babbled on, "being Head Girl and all, but no. She doesn't run in the same circles with her fellow Head Boy, and Nott is such an incredible resource! I mean, he's part of the most famous family in the Sacred Twenty-eight. Leave it to Padma to focus solely on studies. Oh look, there's everyone!"

Hermione chanced a glance in the direction Parvati pointed, heart plummeting when she noticed the Slytherin table. She tugged on Parvati's arms urgently. "I can't sit over there. Are you kidding me? I'd be the laughing stock of the century."

Parvati pushed her hand away and scoffed. "You can and you will. That's _our_ group now and we've been hanging out with them the entire weekend. This is our opportunity to solidify that."

Hermione made to pull away again but Parvati's grip was quite fierce. Panic crawled up her throat as she cast her gaze over the foreboding table. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen anything more intimidating. A lone figure straightened from the group of seventh years and Hermione saw Harry striding towards them, looking as carefree as he pleased.

He came directly up to her and placed a peck on her cheek, causing her to burn crimson with embarrassment.

"Hey, babe," he drawled, taking her hand in his confidently.

Hermione's eyes jumped around the room. Quite a few students and even a couple of teachers had noticed the exchange. She swallowed discreetly, and attempted to quiet her fluttering nerves. _The discussion,_ she inwardly rallied. _I should have damn well talked to him about it before now. Because he's treating me like… a girlfriend… in front of everyone!_

"It's so hard to get this one out of the dorms or the library," Parvati was saying.

Harry shot Parvati a sympathetic look. "Believe me, I know."

Hermione's own tongue was too dry to form words. By now they were approaching the center of the Slytherin table and _everyone_ had noticed them. She suddenly felt like a frightened animal spotted by the hunter - or rather - the _hunters_. She tried desperately to stand tall by Harry's side. She didn't know why she just assumed she and Harry would go on meeting in secret when they came back to Hogwarts. It was now apparent that it hadn't been Harry's plan _at all._ She slipped quietly into her seat and as silly as the notion was, tried to will herself invisible.

"Lovely charms bracelet," Parvati complemented Greengrass, voice sickly sweet. "Did you get that this weekend?"

Daphne's eyes narrowed on her food before she looked up, shrugging flippantly. "At La'Fleur."

"I wanted a bracelet like Granger's," Brown said, flashing her a dazzling smile.

Parkinson pressed her lips in a thin line.

"Where is your bracelet?" Harry asked Hermione, voice low but loud enough to carry.

Hermione reached for her pumpkin juice and willed her voice not to tremble, noticing the way the Carrows were whispering and pointing at them from the corner of the hall. "Seems too dressy to wear everyday…"

Harry clenched his jaw and a muscle twitched by his eye.

Greengrass and Parkinson exchanged knowing looks and Hermione couldn't help but think she was missing something. Probably just another Pureblood thing she didn't understand. Was she supposed to wear it at all times just to declare to the world she was his? How barbaric! And not something she was ready to do in the slightest. Of course she could be over-analyzing things, like always.

"Poor Potter," Malfoy commented drily. "Getting snubbed already."

Heat spread from her cheeks to her ears. Okay, maybe it really was some kind of token she was supposed to display regularly.

Parkinson giggled prettily.

Weasley just watched her with barely suppressed rage bubbling in his eyes. Even Nott wasn't looking at her like the Weasel was. The urge to flee was growing measurably.

Harry placed his hand on her skirt-clad thigh, as if he could sense her growing distress, then leaned down to whisper in her ear. "It has some protection Runes warded into it. I think you should wear it all the time."

Hermione fixed her gaze straight ahead, to where Zabini and Ginevra were snogging like they were the only ones in the room, and nodded. Of course it would be something sensible like that, and here she had let her imagination run wild. Harry gave her thigh a light squeeze and she couldn't help but jump. Even when he pulled his hand away, she could still feel the lingering heat of his touch.

Malfoy and Harry exchanged a dark look before focusing their gazes on Weasley. Hermione noticed the redhead was particularly jumpy this evening. He avoided looking at anyone else, except for the time he had stared at her. A certain wariness spread in the pit of her stomach.

"Don't you have something you need to be doing?" Malfoy prodded, a smirk curling on his lips.

"Yeah," Ginevra broke away from Zabini's mouth long enough to grin at her brother. "What are you waiting for, dear brother? Not feeling cowardly, are you?"

Weasley bared his teeth at his sister before proceeding to do something that took Hermione completely by surprise.

He climbed onto the table, standing on it to his full towering height. Hermione shrank back into Harry, who's long fingers came around to squeeze her shoulders before his right hand trailed lower towards her stomach. She still wasn't quite used to people seeing them in such an intimate position and she became more and more alarmed.

"I have an announcement to make," Weasley said in a tone that reminded Hermione of a petulant child.

Murmurs could quickly be heard around the Great Hall as all heads turned to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy hushed the crowd. "Let the man speak!"

"I just want to say," Weasley turned and gestured to Hermione, "that Granger here is rather good at magic. So good in fact that she… that she… that she's better at it than me." This was met by shocked gasps. "In fact, I'm not even worthy to polish her shoes." The gasps turned to thunderous snickering and catcalls. "That is all." Weasley got down from the table and deposited himself none-too-gently back into his seat looking thoroughly humiliated.

Zabini and Malfoy howled with laughter, practically falling out of their seats. Even the _Slytherin Ice Queen_ and her minions seemed to have enjoyed the spectacle.

"Oh, that's just comedy," said Thomas, gripping his chest.

"And…" Nott pressed, turning to Hermione. "Thoughts on the Weasel's declaration, Granger?"

"Er...well...that is...kind of you to say, I suppose?" Hermione chanced a glance at Harry for some clue as to what was going on, but while he was rubbing her shoulder tenderly, there was only malice in his eyes for Weasley who was trapped in Harry's stare.

Weasley's expression soured. "I'm glad you think so... Lady Hermione."

The laughter renewed and pretty soon the entire table joined in. Hermione wasn't sure what was happening, but even she could feel a smile tugging at her own lips. "What's that about?" she whispered to Harry.

"Just a little side bet we made." He shrugged his shoulders flippantly.

"Side bet," she furrowed her brow in concentration. "And if he won?"

He met her challenging stare head on without a trace of guilt. "He was going to ask you out… to dance… whatever. Not like you would have said yes. Lose-lose for him."

Hermione hummed, wondering why Weasley would make such a risky bet just for the chance to ask her out. He already had been rejected by her before. She didn't let herself puzzle over the odd way Weasley's mind worked. Weasley would always be Weasley and it would seen his ability to irritate had even extended to his friends. Briefly, she couldn't help but entertain the notion that maybe the magic from this weekend had followed her back to school. Maybe Harry's friends and her former tormentors were not going to go on making her life miserable. Perhaps this signaled a change, and finally in her seventh year she would have a school year to remember… with a boyfriend… and friends… and she could finally learn magic the way she wanted to.

A glance at the heading of Nott's newspaper shattered that hope to smithereens.

 _The Daily Prophet_ featured an article with the headline: _MORE MUGGLE-BORNS GO MISSING._ She went pale and her smile faltered. Harry turned to see what had caught her attention and stiffened when he saw the article.

Whatever small amount of peace she was currently enjoying, it couldn't last. It was only a matter of time before Lord Voldemort came out from the shadows and assumed full supremacy over the wizarding world. Her young, idealistic friends who wished to question that rule were up against impossible odds. The majority of wizarding Britain already accepted Lord Voldemort as their supreme leader, and even had effigies of his image in their homes. The so-called resistance was nothing but a thorn to the Ministry. What place would Hermione have in this world when the Dark Lord ultimately took over? Dumbledore was the last wizard to pose a threat. Neville was just a boy whose parents had fought with Dumbledore in the first war. Surely they had to know there was no hope at this point. There was no one left to oppose them.

"Don't worry about anything," Harry whispered into her ear.

"I'm not worried," she lied.

"They won't take you. I'll make sure of it."

Hermione did not doubt Harry and his family had connections. Perhaps he really could make allowances for her. Thoughts of Carrow's dark promise from the week before past through her mind. Purebloods meant to place Muggle-borns in a position of servitude. Would she just be doomed to be a glorified pet to the Pureblood that took a liking to her? Was that the future she could look forward to? Harry seemed confident she would not be taken, and that was somewhat of a relief, but what of the others? What of her friends that hadn't returned this year? What of the Muggles that would soon find out they shared the world with beings stronger than themselves? Could she be content in a life where she was spared from the ghastly fates her peers would face? The answer was blatantly clear in her eyes.

That night, for the first time in a long time, she dreamed. It was a ridiculous dream, like most dreams tended to be. She saw herself running through the forest, a forest she had surely never been to before. It struck her as odd that she could pick up the scent of pine and gnarled tree roots edging the forest floor. She could feel the sweat culminating on the back of her neck as she fled from some unknown apparation. She sensed others fleeing right alongside her, and that was perhaps the oddest of it all. She was _only ever_ alone. It was a silly dream, but unlike most dreams, it stayed with her throughout the week in vivid detail.

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Sirius Owl'd me," Harry said so only Malfoy could hear him. "I am to meet him next Saturday in a week at the Shrieking Shack."

Malfoy's face broke out into a grin. "Your test, then. Time to see if you will be welcomed into the Dark Lord's folds."

Harry nodded grimly. He was not afraid - hardly - he was more amped, if anything. The day was finally approaching, and a large chunk of the puzzle that was this new, crazy world would be revealed to him.

He'd heard much of Lord Voldemort in passing—mainly that he was a great wizard. It occurred to Harry that he had not heard some of the things he had expected to hear. That he was terrifying to behold, or that he was cruel beyond measure, or that he would come back bearing the mark of the Death Eaters. They said Voldemort would be impressed by Harry's dueling prowess, and that he would create a spot for Harry in his regime. His peers seemed fairly confident, as had his godfather. He could only wonder as to which version of Voldemort he would come to face. Would it be the scholarly Tom Riddle or the charming Tom Riddle who could woo any witch or wizard to his cause? It would explain why so many families followed him—Purebloods and Half-bloods alike. Would it be the monster who was prone to cruelty and long speeches, whom Harry had faced and vanquished? That particular threat held no fear for Harry.

He would ask for permission to keep Hermione safe. It was his only play, and Voldemort's answer would determine his next move. He knew Voldemort was likely to grant such requests - despite it being against his beliefs - he'd done so with Snape. _He also failed to keep my mother safe for Snape,_ he reminded himself. That was true, but there was a difference between him and his old professor—Harry would be by Hermione's side, always, and there would be no opportunity for her to be taken by surprise.

Making a deal with Voldemort was one option. It might even be the safest option, for now. It would buy him time to keep Hermione at the school for the duration of their seventh year while he became closer with her. After that, he had no intention of staying in wizarding Britain. Why would he? From what little information he'd gleaned on the Order, it was a joke and nothing like the force it had been in his time. There would be no aligning with them just to be demolished. Harry may survive a war between the two, but would Hermione? Certainly not. She was prone to leaving him in life, and he would not willingly place her in harm's way when he could simply barter with the devil himself.

The weekend in Paris was proof that Hermione could be happy so long as Harry made her life easier. It was evidence there was life outside of Britain. They didn't need to stay here just to practice magic. Harry wanted a life with Hermione, and he didn't want another war, certainly not one that the Order had zero chance of winning and all the chances for fatalities. The magical community did not even support the resistance! They scoffed at them. As far as Harry was concerned, the dark side had already won. Now it was either make a deal and play by the rules as long as necessary until he could make a break for it, or join a suicide mission. He knew what came from joining suicide missions. Losing the one he loved and losing his ability to perform simple tasks due to his debilitations sustained during the war were fairly painful reminders.

Harry was not the same bright-eyed, rash person. He'd developed some cunning… some strategy. This time, he would see that the cards would be stacked in his favor and he would win.

"My meeting, yes," he finally answered Malfoy. "I'm anxious for it to be here."

"You'll do fine, you know. Uncle Sirius is his favorite, and _He_ met you as a boy. There's history there. Our family has always been loyal to Lord Voldemort, even during the Dumbledore movement."

Harry wanted to ask desperately about the Dumbledore movement. He contemplated asking Hermione, but would that draw her suspicion? He needed her to fully trust him before he could fully trust her. In one of these lessons, he would need to start teaching her Occlumency and then… Legilimency.

Maybe there were books that detailed the Dumbledore movement, but Harry doubted it. The history books Harry had found in the Library had been very one-sided as far as wars went. He learned of the _Magic is Might_ campaign that came to power in the early 1970's and quickly began to pick up speed. He learned of the battle that had occurred in 1980, the one his parents ultimately died in. Since then, the movement had receded to the shadows but the damage that could be done from behind the scenes was substantial. _Magic is Might_ and its leader were heralded as underground heroes, welcomed at parties and offered jobs at the Ministry.

The belief that magicfolk should not have to hide their abilities from the lesser human race that were Muggles seemed to spread like fiendfyre and it wasn't long before their bills and edicts infiltrated the Ministry. When Dumbledore died, so did the last shield protecting the Muggles. The Statutes of Secrecy were currently at risk of abolishment, according to _the Prophet,_ and who would be there to ring in the new regime when the Muggles become aware of their existence? Voldemort would finally come out of the shadows and by doing so, force the hands of the other Ministries around the world whose Muggles would have heard of the witches and wizards who once lived secretly in Britain.

Harry didn't deny it was a potential problem, but it wasn't something that could be solved by one person. The fact was, there wasn't a manic, narcissist ruler heading those foreign Ministries, and it would still be preferential to flee rather than stay put.

"Thank Merlin that batty old fool has finally been dispensed with, yeah?" Harry stared out of the corner of his eye, hoping Malfoy would give him more information, whilst trying to appear barely interested.

"Yeah, he was a swotty old fucker. Glad to be rid of him."

Harry inwardly sulked at the lack of information Malfoy offered him. Oh well. He'd have to find out some other way, eventually. Maybe the books his godfather had at his home were more revealing. "Watch over Granger while I'm gone, yes?"

Malfoy's brows rose. "Of course."

"Don't let that slimy git Carrow get near her."

Malfoy threw back his head and laughed. "I think you assured that all on your own. Carrow has been embarrassed as fuck that a bloody teenager schooled him. And he's supposed to be the sodding Defense teacher. It's pathetic."

"Yeah, he better be all the wiser now." Harry glanced over to where Hermione sat chatting with the girls. She was sitting on the floor between Patil's legs while the Gryffindor braided her hair. Perhaps he could rest easy knowing Hermione wouldn't be messed with just because he was away.

"Say," Malfoy began uncertainly, casting a glance around to make sure they were out of hearing range. "You going to ask the Dark Lord for her protection?" He nodded towards Hermione. "I wouldn't blame you, you know. You saw something in all that filth and I say you had a keen eye."

Harry grit his teeth to keep from snarling something back. Malfoy couldn't help himself, not in this world at least. In other worlds, he could be quite the ignorant bastard too. "I'm going to, yes."

"Good." The tension drained from the Slytherin's face. "And what if he says no?"

Harry froze, his temper flaring in his chest. "No?" A dark smile curled over his face. "I don't think he'd want to say no, Malfoy."

Malfoy furrowed his brows. "Why not?"

"Because then Britain would have another dark wizard to contend with." For a moment, he let the truth of his words, the depth of his feelings for Hermione and savage determination to protect her, shine through his eyes. Malfoy flinched away and Harry knew he'd seen how serious he was. Harry could either be a silent ally that could be bought off, or he could be competition. "I mean it, Malfoy. I'm tired of people fucking with me over this. The Dark Lord may be older and wiser and have years of experience but youth has its advantages too and sometimes power is just something you are born with. I've been born with it, and I won't hesitate to start my own bloody regime if someone wants to fucking lord over me. I'm not a sodding slave, Malfoy."

Malfoy's awestruck eyes glinted with mischief as he smirked at his friend. "Shit, Potter, how long have we known each other? Since you fell off your first broomstick? It's been ages. You know I'd join that bloody regime any day. You don't have to get all pissy with me."

Harry shrugged, secretly rejoicing the depth of Malfoy's loyalty to him. Parkinson had already professed hers, and now Malfoy, too. He had allies, if he'd ever need them.

"But I don't think you need to worry about it. The Dark Lord will say yes to you. It's not that outlandish a request."

Harry was happy to hear that. If he was busy opposing Voldemort, who would be there to protect Hermione? Better to just play by the rules for now.

"She's a hot piece of ass, Potter. Watch her around Zabini. Looks to me like he definitely wants to tap some Mudblood."

His smile dropped. Malfoy had the uncanny ability of making him pleased one moment and striking him with the urge to throttle him the next.

"Speaking of which," Harry drew up from the couch and headed Hermione's way. "Why don't I see what my dear Hermione is up to?"

"Sounds good to me. Say...you are over Pans, aren't you?"

Harry wrinkled his nose and didn't slow his pace. "Of course."

"So you wouldn't mind if I…"

"Shit no, Draco." Harry broke out into a genuine grin and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "If anything, I'd be thrilled if you two shacked up."

Harry felt lighter already. A taken Pansy was easier to deal with. Speaking of, the Slytherin witch in question seemed to be interrogating Brown rather brusquely.

"Honestly, Lav, you haven't asked Hermione to your sleepover yet?"

"Shit, Pansy." Brown fiddled with her Oxford that hung out of the tight jumper she wore. "You know it's still in the works and all. Of course I was going to invite her."

"It's okay, really," Hermione rushed to assure them, blushing fiercely. "I honestly don't mind."

Pansy chose to ignore her. "Lavender Brown, you handed those ridiculously overdone invitations out two weeks ago."

"But that was before _Paris_ ," Brown rallied, before catching herself and shooting Hermione an apologetic look. "I mean, it was before we knew you well, is all I'm saying."

Hermione gave her a comforting smile and nodded. "I know. Don't worry about it. I'm not much for sleepovers anyway. Ow!" She glanced at Parvati, accusation in her gaze.

"What Hermione means is, we haven't had the _opportunity_ to go to one this year, sadly. Of course we were just talking about how we needed to throw something together ourselves," Parvati said, her dark eyes glittering.

Brown looked first at Pansy then at Parvati who continued to braid the last of Hermione's thick hair. "Well," she stuttered, "of course you are invited, both of you! It's next Saturday right here in the common room. I'll fetch you some invites to make it official."

Brown rushed off on her too high of heels and Parvati smirked triumphantly at Hermione. Harry fought a grin. Patil was a moocher in this world, only hanging on to Hermione so long as she could bring her higher up the social ladder than she was before, but she was better than the others and according to Hermione had always been decent to her in the past.

"That's good." Harry bent down to loan his hand to Hermione and help her to her feet. Her hair looked good braided around her head like a halo. "I have to leave for a bit next Saturday anyway, so glad you'll be busy with something."

"Where do you have to go?" Hermione asked curiously, a frown on her face.

"Just a little day trip with my godfather." He guided her away from the crowds and to a corner of the common room not occupied by anyone else. He sat on a lounger and pulled her down with him so she was sitting half on his lap. "You won't even notice I'm gone." He swooped in to kiss her on the cheek. "I promise."

She ducked her eyes and a furious blush crawled on her face. Much to his displeasure, she didn't melt against him but instead sat rigidly.

Frowning, he lightly cupped her chin and tilted her chin to look at him. "What's the matter?"

She bit her lip and tried to look anywhere but at him. "It's just that… we haven't really discussed things between us," she said in a rush. "I'd meant to bring it up during practice, but you know, we were really focused and…"

A smirk threatened at the corners of his lips. Was she wanting him to define their relationship? As if his actions hadn't made it perfectly clear? It was adorable. Harry fought to keep his expression serious. "Between us?"

She nodded, now focused on her fingers in her lap. "You know, like between _you and I,_ because you never said and I just thought it should be clear."

"I didn't think there was anything to discuss."

Her head shot up and her embarrassment gave way to indignation. " _Really_? Well you have been a bit affectionate. And the way you talk to me… and there was _that night_ at the hotel."

He looked away, desperately not wanting to think about that night they shared while she was currently sitting snugly on his lap. His diaphragm tightened.

"I see that as _something_." She stared pointedly to where his hands rested- one on her thigh and one on her hip.

He chuckled. Unable to resist, he lifted his hand from her hip and gently traced her cheek. She tensed as if she meant to rise off of him and his grip around her strengthened. "You misunderstand. I thought there was nothing to talk about, because I thought it was obvious. I want you to be my _girlfriend._ Aren't you?"

The stunned expression on her face was almost comical. Her eyes were wide as they searched his for any trace of insincerity. "Um…" she faltered, before giving him a jerky nod.

He smiled widely and pulled her tighter in his embrace, her head burrowing in his chest. The scent of her chestnut curls drifting in his nostrils made him wild. His eyes grew hooded as he lightly rubbed her back.

"Good," her voice was muffled, "because I miss being close to you."

"Being close?"

Her head lifted slightly and she boldly met his gaze. "What does being boyfriend and girlfriend mean to you?"

His lips pulled into a wry smirk. "Always with the questions. I think with this it's more of a learn-as-you-go type of thing?"

She sulked. "You've been so distant lately."

He laughed. "Have I?"

"You know what I mean. I hope being your girlfriend means there will be less of that."

He sighed. "Merlin, Hermione." His gaze raked over her fondly. "Of course it does. We just need some time to ourselves. But next weekend I have that thing with my godfather and you have your party."

"I don't really want to go to a party with them," she jutted her chin towards the girls. "Just last month their mission in life was to make mine miserable, and now they want to include me in their parties? It's just weird." She stared at her fingers as she fiddled with them.

"Then don't go, you don't have to." He ran his hand up and down her side, unable to resist touching her just for a little while before they were separated for the night.

"Parvati really wants to, and they have been so nice since last week…"

"You don't have to do things just for Parvati," Harry reminded her, his tone edging on scolding. "She can get her own invite."

She smiled slightly before leaning down to rest her head on his chest. "I just want to hang out with you." She traced her fingers up his jumper. "Between classes and matches I rarely get to see you aside from in the Great Hall, but it's so rowdy in there… and in here."

"We met on Wednesday to practice," he pointed out.

"Yes, I know." She ducked her head, as if unwilling for him to see what was in her eyes. "But I'd like to be alone, you know."

Harry exhaled a shaky breath, his mind pulling back to that night in the hotel. He fought back a grimace, thinking about how much of an arse he'd been to push Hermione so far when they'd only kissed before. After he'd fought or dueled and his emotions were running haywire was the wrong time to be alone with the girl. He just wanted her, damn the consequences. She deserved better. She deserved wining and dining and gifts and coaxing sweet kisses, not the overbearing intensity he showed her back in Paris. It had been his goal the entire week to curb his raging desires for the girl, and so far he'd done so splendidly.

"We're alone now." He flashed her a smile. "Sort of. We have this corner of the common room to ourselves. I'm fine with leaving those overbearing swots if you are."

"I've been having… weird dreams," she grumbled, wrinkling her nose distastefully. "And I just wish you'd kiss me again." She turned to him suddenly, placing her hands flat on his chest, honey brown eyes seeking his. "Everything makes so much more sense when you kiss me. It just feels right."

Unable to deny her anything, his eyes fell to her full lips. Urged by her desire for him, he surged forward, capturing her lips with his in a gentle tug and pull. She sighed in contentment, tilting her head to better reach him as she kissed him back, lips moving sinuously against his own.

Whenever he touched her, his blood turned to fire in his veins. She had that effect on him. Her intoxicating presence made his vessels for to burst. She tasted sweet and right and so intrinsically like Hermione. She tasted like fires and nights on the run and slow dances with just the two of them. _My girl_ , a possessive voice in his head all but snarled. _Only mine,_ he confirmed.

His hands obeyed his mind, and stayed rigidly at her hips. He knew they were in a common room full of people and even though they were off in the corner, they could be happened upon by anyone. It was important to stay in control, like always, to remember that she was fragile and he was beyond lucky to have this second chance with her.

Hermione did not seem too concerned by the presence of others or with the compelling need to stay in control. She pressed her lips more firmly against his, coaxing him to move faster. She darted her tongue out to taste him, before pressing against the seam of his lips. He opened for her - against his better judgement - just so she might take what she desired. He let her lead the kiss, finding his tongue and coaxing it out to play with hers. He tried to keep their kiss soft and sweet, but she routinely demanded more. Her fingers crept up his neck and into his hair where they tugged. She wriggled on his lap and arched her spine as she moved. His little vixen wanted to deepen the kiss and he was determined to keep things between them manageable. When he lost control, he hated himself for it. Hermione deserved better than a man driven by lust.

He broke the kiss, watching her swollen lips as she panted a scant few inches from him. "Hold on a minute... in the common room, remember?"

"So let's go somewhere else," she told him recklessly, letting her head fall to the side as she regarded him. "I told you - I've missed you - I've missed this between us."

When she leaned in to continue their kiss, Harry put a halting hand on her shoulder. "We'll get some alone time soon, I promise."

She pouted, her eyes heated but now falling downcast. Harry reached to pluck a hair from behind her ear and place it back. How could he - in good conscience - go further with Hermione? She did not know him —really _know him_ — yet _._ The kind of man that is intimate with a girl that doesn't know a tenth of the secrets he carries is a fucking monster. He didn't want to be a monster. So stopping her was the only option.

There would come a time when he would share his deepest, darkest secrets with her. They would be hard to accept, but if any woman would be strong enough, it was her. Until that time, he needed to protect her. Protect her from the school, and from himself.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	12. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Huge shout out to my alpha and beta LeanaM who helped me tremendously with the final scene and everything else Xx_

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione was surprised to find Harry in the library before Defense class.

He hadn't said he was going to be there, and she scolded herself for expecting Harry to report his whereabouts to her. She may be his girlfriend now, but she wasn't going to be _that_ sort of girlfriend.

He was leaning against a bookcase, a large tome balanced in one hand as he traced a line of text with his finger. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration which prompted her to approach him quietly so as not to interrupt him. She hated it when other people did that to her. Curious, she tilted her head to peer at the title he was reading. It didn't appear to be a book on any assigned reading list she was aware of. A part of her cheered that Harry was reading for pleasure as she so often did. Could the man get anymore appealing? He was already sexy, and now he had to go and be well-read as well? She let out a wistful sigh.

Harry glanced up and closed the book sharply. She could have sworn she saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, but that didn't make very much sense.

" _Parallel Energies_?" she queried. "That doesn't look like light reading."

"Hermione." His posture went slack in a cross between carefree and graceful. "I wasn't expecting you here."

"In the library? You forget this is my sanctuary." She grinned ruefully.

He returned her smile, but she saw a muscle twitch by his eye. "Is it time to walk you to Defense already? I hadn't realized…"

She frowned. "You don't have to walk me." A sick feeling welled in her belly. Was she beginning to seem like a chore to him? She certainly didn't want him to feel obligated to do things with her. "There's still a good ten minutes until class, anyway."

In three short strides he was right in front of her, threading his right hand through her hair and placing a chaste kiss on her lips that made her tingle. "Don't be silly. Of course I want to walk you. I'd be offended if you didn't let me."

She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Oh." She gave him a small smile and tried not to get lost in his green gaze. "We have a minute." She glanced at the book he held by his side. "So is it any good?"

"Not really." His fingers dropped to her shoulder and trailed down to her wrist before he pulled her to sit with him at the long desk. "I thought I'd research the idea for our Magical Theory essay in Runes."

Her forehead wrinkled as she puzzled through the idea. "The notion that warded symbols on objects can transport people through time and space?"

"And other universes altogether."

Hermione would have laughed if Harry did not appear to look so grave. "It's quite an outlandish theory."

"I know. But it sounded interesting."

"You may want to try Spalding. There's a text he has called _Intersection._ I haven't seen it here at Hogwarts, but I saw it listed in a forword of one of his other books. It talks about parallel universes and other such nonsense."

"Nonsense?"

"Well, it's a _theory._ There hasn't been definite research on the subject, as I'm sure you've seen in that text." She gestured to the book he'd laid out in front of him, one she'd read before and found to be rather silly. "The testimony in it can hardly be taken seriously. Burke, herself, admits that the witch was not all there in the head, and addicted to potions." She shrugged. "But I suppose if you found a combination of Runes and explained how they _could_ bind together to create such a ward, it would make for a suitable project."

He ran his fingers through his black hair, thoroughly ruffling it. "That's what I was hoping. But it's a lot of work."

"You might also try the books on Time-Turners, though there aren't many. I would imagine those Runes would work similarly."

"It's not due until after Christmas break." He smiled brightly at her. "Maybe I can find some better texts in the Black family library."

Her eyes gleamed at the prospect of having access to so many texts not available at the school.

He tugged on an errant curl escaping her ponytail. "You'll just have to come visit one of these days so you can look through them." His eyes drooped slightly as he looked at her fondly. "I know you would like that."

She nodded. "That would be wonderful." She glanced at the clock. "Okay, now we might want to start making our way to Defense." She wrinkled her nose. "Merlin, but I can't stand Carrow. Who knows what ridiculous curriculum he's dredged up for us today."

A dark look passed over his face and his hand curled over hers possessively. "I guess we'll soon find out. Though I'd much rather skip."

She laughed and cupped his chin affectionately. "You know we can't skip class. Don't be silly."

He looked up with an expression that could only be described as petulant, but came willingly when she lightly tugged him from his seat.

**\- - -**

"Just as a refresher, can someone tell me about the _Imperius Curse_?" Carrow glanced around the class, his eyes brightening when he saw Nott's raised hand. "Ah, Mr Nott?"

"The _Imperius Curse_ , formerly classified as an Unforgivable, is a dark and powerful curse that if performed correctly can place the victim completely under the caster's control," Nott drawled confidently.

"Excellent. Five points for the Head Boy." He turned his dark stare on the rest of the class. "Today I'd like you to break up in teams of two and practice the curse on each other. Take turns, but for those not casting, I'd like for you to try and keep some semblance of control. Stay aware while under the curse, and if you've accomplished that much, try and resist it."

Hermione glanced at Harry who rolled his eyes.

"I hate performing this curse," she confessed. "It makes my stomach hurt after."

"You don't have to perform it then," Harry said with a shrug. "But I do think it will be good practice for you to resist." He glanced around, and when he spoke again it was in a hushed tone. "I was going to suggest we try that next during our _private tutoring._ "

Hermione nodded, tucking her wand in her robes as she went to stand by Harry in a corner of the room where there was a generous amount of space.

When she turned to face her partner, she had a brief moment of doubt. He was fixing her with a rather dark look, and he appeared menacing. Hermione tried to console herself that it stood to reason he would be affected pulling from the Dark Arts, but her fingers itched for her own wand when she saw his trained solely on her.

"Ready?"

She nodded tremulously, and then she was suddenly swept up in a haze of sickly green fog that clouded her mind and gave her a distinct floating sensation. When her vision cleared, her eyes were only for Harry. He didn't speak, but she heard him just the same.

_Let your hair down, love._

The voice in her head was so gentle, it was actually soothing. Her natural inclination to resist was stifled thanks to the reassurance she heard. Hermione could try to fight if she wanted to, but why on earth would she want to? It felt good to abide by such a simple demand. It gave her _pleasure._ She wanted to do this for him and realized that she had done so instantly. He frowned and Hermione felt a pang of sorrow at the sight. She wanted to make him happy - so happy - her wizard. She could see the power he wielded circling around him.

_Beautiful._

She preened under the compliment. Her cheeks hurt and she realized she had been smiling the whole time. She dropped it. This was supposed to be serious, wasn't it? But she didn't especially want to be serious. She merely wanted to please her wizard.

_Raise your hand and touch your nose._

She did so instantly, and her wizard shook his head. She frowned, thinking that maybe she shouldn't have. But it gave her so much joy to listen—so much _satisfaction._ The idea of not listening to his commands made her feel physically ill. The thought of displeasing him made her nauseous. She kept her gaze focused on him. He was so lovely to look at! His robes were cast aside and his school uniform accentuated his Quidditch-trained figure. He didn't look like a boy, but a man capable of wielding a formidable amount of power.

_Run your fingers through your hair._

Her hand raised and paused midway as a jet of green light by her side distracted her. She noticed the students battling to her right and it caused anger to momentarily flare in her chest. They shouldn't be practicing such spells! _Do it for me, baby._ Her hand flew to her hair and her fingers scraped across her scalp as she ran them through her hair. She let out a sigh of contentment and the resulting feeling of _obeying_ made her feel rapturous.

Her wizard was rolling her eyes. "We have a lot of work to do, Hermione."

The sound of his voice was thrilling, and her name on his lips made her tingle. Feeling giddy and oddly high, she let out a giggle. Some irritated part of her gave a loud snort that echoed in her head. It reminded her that she was supposed to be doing something, but was failing. She didn't like to fail.

_Come over here and kiss me on the cheek._

Her feet moved before the voice had even finished in her head. When she reached him, she had to look up - way up - to see his face. One brow arched challengingly as his sharp eyes skewered her. She placed her hands on his right shoulder and reached up on her tiptoes then hesitated.

_Come on, lovely girl. Don't make me ask again._

Her resistance fell away as she leaned up the rest of the way to brush her lips against his cheek. He smirked and shook his head. Indignation seared through her, propelling her to reach for his face with both hands and force him to face her. Too surprised to resist, he allowed the movement and - feeling a surge of triumph - she captured his lips with hers and kissed him soundly.

He broke away an instant later and cut his wand harshly through the air.

The fog lifted.

"What the bloody hell." Her skull pounded and her brain buzzed painfully. "Oh, Merlin, I did horribly."

"Not necessarily." His fingers found and squeezed her neck lightly. "You broke away long enough to do something you weren't forced to do. And you hesitated a few times. I'd say that's really good."

Hermione massaged at her temples. "I hope you're not just saying that to be nice."

Harry's laugh was cut short by the arrival of Professor Carrow.

"Miss Granger, I didn't see you try the curse."

She turned her wary gaze on the professor, whose eyes gleamed with the promise of retribution.

"We were still working on the first part," Harry said through gritted teeth, a warning in his eyes.

"No need, Miss Granger can practice on me and I will show the class what it looks like to successfully resist."

Harry took a menacing step forward, but Hermione placed a calming hand on his arm and shot him a meaningful look. She could do this. It might make her feel sick, but she wasn't going to have Harry getting in trouble because of her.

She followed Carrow resolutely to the front of the class, and gripped her wand tightly.

"Alright, Miss Granger," Carrow spread out his hands in a gesture meant to be welcoming, "show us your skill, if you have any, that is."

Ignoring the jibe, she called for her magic to surround her which had become second-nature, but she hated forcing her magic some place _dark_. She remembered what Harry had taught her about _forcing_ spells. That never worked. The best way was to _will it._ And so Hermione attempted to change her attitude toward the curse as she willed the magic to pour through her.

" _Imperio_."

Her magic surged through her violently, giving her already pounding head such a rush she nearly swooned. In that moment, she could understand how some witches and wizards turned to the Dark Arts. It left her feeling a heady sense of power. She focused that power on Carrow and let the magic flow from her wand to him. She registered a brief look of surprise before the professor's jaw went slack and he was standing with a hazy look on his face.

Hermione thought about what she wanted him to do before sending the order to him. She smirked when Carrow started to spin and do pirouettes around the front of the room. She could hear her classmates laughing and jeering in the background but she focused all her attention on holding the curse.

 _Enough of that._ The professor halted. _The dixies. Let them out of their cages and set them free._

There was no hesitation as Carrow rushed to do just that and the laughter turned to howls and loud guffaws.

"Granger, what'd you do that for?" Zabini asked, breaking her concentration.

Malfoy laughed as he watched the blue creatures fly around the room. "Yeah, now we might be the ones to have to chase them down!"

Hermione knew she should lift the curse, but she was reluctant to do so. It wasn't until she felt the hand on her shoulder that she forced herself to let go of the euphoric power. She would tell herself later that she was afraid of Carrow's reaction, but really it was because the power was intoxicating.

Carrow came to with a stunned expression on his face. "Enough!" he squeaked. "Open your books to chapter fifteen and read _quietly_ while I round up these beasts." He turned his angry gaze on Hermione who was still panting from the rush. "Miss Granger, to your seat. I don't know what possessed you to do something so stupid."

Hermione shrugged and walked off to her seat with Harry closely behind her.

"I know how it feels." His thumb lightly circled the pulse point at her wrist. "I know it feels… _good_."

"I didn't say I didn't know how to do it," she was compelled to remind him, "I only said doing this spell makes me sick… usually. Though I'm not… I don't quite feel very sick now."

"It's because you willed it this time. The feeling… it can be a bit _tempting._ "

"It was intense." She sat down in her seat and looked Harry square in the eyes. "But I don't want to do it again. I don't like dark curses."

He smiled. "Good."

**~oOo*oOo~**

The long walk from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack seemed even longer by himself and with the added knowledge of where the end of this journey would lead.

Harry remembered frequenting it before - with Ron and Hermione - with a Ron still full of himself, but not near as pratty as the _Weasley_ he encountered here. Even with the knowledge that Hermione was in relatively safe hands with Malfoy, he was still loathe to leave her.

He thought about his impending meeting with Voldemort and chuckled. The sound echoed from the walls and he had to suppress the urge to flinch.

He was actually on his way to meet Voldemort!

Instead of being frozen with fear like the last time he'd faced him, this time he was cool, calm, and calculated. He had a precise mission to carry out and he needed his performance to be perfect.

He had faced the dark wizard before - as a _mere boy_ \- and vanquished him. A part of Harry was not fearful so much as he was wary of how his plan would unfold. More prevalent was his concern for Hermione. He seemed to have rid her of some of her enemies, but there were still the teachers to contend with, and the bloody Carrows among them.

Harry laughed to himself when he thought of Hermione's performance in classes that week.

She'd earned Gryffindor 130 points in the past week alone.

It certainly made a difference when she actually raised her hand in class. Harry's mind drew back to Arithmancy, a Ravenclaw and Gryffindor class, where she had done just that.

_Professor Crouch sneered his disgust when he saw Hermione raise her hand. "What is it? Do you need to use the lavatory?"_

_Hermione's eyed widened in comical confusion. "No, professor, I'd like to solve the question, actually."_

_The class guffawed, the Eagles having never heard Hermione offer to solve an equation in this particular class._

_The Head Girl let out a nasty little laugh. "Don't waste our time, Granger. Some of us are actually trying to learn something from this class."_

_Hermione ignored Padma, and walked up to the board, ponytail swishing with each step. "I'm so glad you gave us this problem, professor." She whisked the chalk from his still hovering hand. "You know, it's so unusual to see Uriz paired with Algiz. It makes the problem a bit difficult to decipher, but I find using Wenlock's theories on the properties of the magical number seven quite relative here. One might be quick to use Horace's methods as a possible solution, but I would say his mathematical deductions lack the complexity needed to solve such a tricky pairing." Hermione continued to scrawl out numbers on the board, humming as she worked. "Wenlock really was a genius when it came to Runic coding. I think you'll find that any problem - however complex - can be solved using her methods. An inspiration, really. Ah, and this one is eleven to the fifth."_

_She handed the chalk back to the stunned professor and walked smugly to her seat to sit beside Harry, who beamed with pride. No one had ever seen Crouch award points until that day._

Yes, Hermione was thriving. All she needed was someone to tell her it was okay to _try,_ that she wouldn't be ridiculed for displaying her knowledge, and that her opinions mattered. She was flourishing and becoming the witch he was more familiar with. Gone was the meek and subservient girl that would lay down on the floor so that others might walk over her back. This Hermione was stronger and more confident, and her power shone in leaps and bounds. Harry should be happy, but it all depended on what happened today, really.

When he stepped out onto the creaking wood floor of the Shrieking Shack, his godfather was there to meet him.

"Harry, my boy!" Sirius pulled him into a fierce embrace. "How I've missed you. Grimmauld isn't the same without you, you know. All the good jokes I waste on Kreacher and no one is there to appreciate them! He just stares at me with his oversized eyes like this."

Sirius' impersonation of a house elf was enough to crack Harry's stony face.

The elder wizard relaxed at the sound of Harry's laughter. He threw a hand around his shoulder. "How was Paris? You never did Owl me. Spend all your galleons on a conniving girl?"

"Not all of them."

"Did you take Parkinson?" Sirius was steering them towards the exit now, and Harry breathed in the fresh air.

"Another one, actually."

Sirius frowned. "Who?"

"Hermione… Hermione Granger," he replied unapologetically. "We had a splendid time."

"How come I don't know her?"

Harry set his lips and forced his gaze ahead as he gestured with his hand. "Maybe because she's Muggle-born?"

Harry waited on pins and needles to see what Sirius' reaction would be, having planned to drop the bomb for weeks. He didn't have to wait long. The older wizard froze in his tracks, and peered up at his taller godson. "Muggle-born, you say?"

"That's right. She strikes my fancy." He shrugged, willing Sirius to think whatever he wished of the revelation, Harry's only concern was in gauging his reaction.

Sirius stayed quiet for a few long seconds before replying. "Must be some fine piece of ass."

Harry forced a chuckle though he felt no true mirth. "Yes, she is that."

"Merlin, like father like son. I suppose the old adage is true. Though I hoped you would pick up some of _my_ more desirable traits."

 _Like father like son._ The words reverberated through his brain. That was a tale Harry wanted to learn about desperately. How had James Potter, a Pureblood, begun a relationship with Lily Evans, a Muggle-born? Especially in this universe. How had he made such a thing _work_ , and what had happened to them both because of it? The only thing Harry knew was that they both died in the war shortly after he was born.

Harry clapped his godfather's shoulder affectionately. "But I have, Sirius! All my best traits."

"Still, soiling yourself with Mudbloods, when you might have the purest witches."

Harry couldn't help but wrinkle his nose—he and his godfather had very different opinions in regards to _purity_. He wondered how best to glean information from the man. How could he get Sirius talking? "Doesn't the Dark Lord mean for us to take a pet or two?" He almost choked on the bile those words drew forth.

"Oh, I'm sure, just in moderation of course. And certainly don't catch feelings."

"Of course. And it's not like anyone opposes him. I mean, ha," he cast a sideways glance to Sirius feeling wary broaching such a subject but he had to glean information from somewhere, "not as if there's some prophecy written in the stars about his defeat, right? He's untouch—"

But Harry couldn't continue the thought, because Sirius had dug his fingers into Harry's wrist as he spun him around, approaching on him earnestly. "Prophecy?" His godfather's eyes were wild.

Harry's bravado fractured seeing Sirius like this. "Erm...yes...prophecy? I mean, there isn't any, right?"

 _Tell me about the prophecy... about Neville,_ he inwardly begged. _I just need to know if that's the same, at least._

Sirius peered at Harry as if just seeing him for the first time. Suddenly, Harry was certain Sirius saw through the mask he wore. The man knew he was an imposter! Harry didn't belong in this world, and now Sirius had come to the same revelation.

Finally, after a long and drawn out minute, Sirius spoke, "There was only one prophecy of importance made by Sybill Trelawney in 1980. Did you know only five people were there that day? Only five heard it, and the orb never made it to the Department of Mysteries, but was shattered during travel."

"Five people?" Harry pressed, feeling mildly uncomfortable.

"Five people. Four wizards and one witch. All of which are dead save me."

"Who were they, Sirius?"

"Your parents, my old friend Remus, and the only wizard to ever rival our Dark Lord. Dead now, all of them." Sirius did not look like the carefree man that could keep any witch teetering on the sidelines for a chance at him. The mischief was gone, and so was the allure, replaced with profound loss and deep secrets. Harry was floored.

"What did the prophecy say?"

Sirius physically shook his head as if to clear his befuddled mind. "Just what I told the Dark Lord all those years ago. There would be only one that could oppose him. One whose hair was white with age and whose hands were gnarled by years of use. It was about Dumbledore, of course, and now he's gone."

Something about the revelation did not ring true to Harry, but he didn't question further, not when he was so close to being ousted. Still, the urge to use Legilimency and find out more about that day was overwhelming.

"So nothing about my fellow dorm mate Longbottom?" Harry asked, forcing a light laugh. "You know, we always wondered why he was never just dealt with. We thought there must be something…"

Sirius scoffed loudly, ripping a golden pocket watch from his coat. "Hardly. That boy is nothing. He's a gnat only escaping day after day because he's one person among three. Easy to hide that way, you see?"

Harry nodded.

"The Dark Lord could silence him without so much as lifting his wand. Longbottom is of no importance. _The Prophet_ makes a bigger deal out of him than they need to. You, however, hold the Dark Lord's interest."

Harry spoke no more of prophecies, feeling more confused than when he'd broached the subject. Why wouldn't Sirius just tell him the prophecy had been about a boy - about - Longbottom - destined to kill Voldemort? Why the secrecy? Would not the whole of wizarding Britain know like they had with him? Harry could hardly believe it was centered around Dumbledore and he didn't see why Sirius would lie to protect Neville.

He placed his outstretched hand on the chain of the pocket watch and then was joined with Sirius in the sudden pull of portkey travel. Harry felt dimensions haul and tug on his body, but landed upright when the portkey took them to a dark manor, not necessarily neglected, but certainly Gothic if the decor was any indication.

"Gaunt Manor," Sirius explained. "You've been before as a boy."

Harry could just imagine a small boy being led by his idol, Sirius, to meet the darkest wizard of their century. The thought made him feel cold and detached. Sirius was not a friend, but a foe who worshipped the Dark Lord, and it was best he reminded himself so frequently.

"Ah, Wormtail," Sirius greeted a remarkably differently looking Peter Pettigrew as they entered the double doors of the manor and into the sitting room. "My old friend. When is the last time you have seen James' son?"

Peter peered at Harry, and he resisted the urge to pull his wand as he bore the inspection. This Peter was quite different than the rat from his time. He was slimmer and not balding. His features were still mousy and shrewd, but he looked years younger, if not like a different person entirely.

"Looks just like him," came the verdict, but he spared Harry no more consideration. "Come on—the Dark Lord will see you now."

Sirius faltered, looking reluctant to part with Harry so soon. Harry himself had expected to wait at least a little bit, but it would appear there would be no delay in facing the inevitable.

Harry followed resolutely, mildly comforted by the fact that Sirius did not seem to want to leave him alone. Harry followed Peter through the Study doors.

"Good luck," Sirius whispered to him, before the door shut behind him with his father's two oldest friends on the other side of it. The notion did not bring him comfort.

The room was dark, but Harry could barely make out the man sitting behind the desk, outstretched fingers cradling his head so that only dark hair was visible to Harry.

Hair.

The man had hair! The wizard in question slowly looked up and Harry fought to keep a straight face when he saw a Voldemort that looked anything like the Voldemort he knew.

He was an older Tom Riddle!

Raven black hair framed an arguably handsome face that probably made many witches swoon. There was a bit of white at his temples - at his _sideburns_ \- but otherwise the only indication of his age were the becoming lines on his face and the years in his black eyes. Harry was staring at an older Tom Riddle and there was no Voldemort in sight. The revelation made his stomach twist with nausea. Voldemort he could handle, but Riddle? His brief experience with Riddle had nearly ended fatally.

"The spitting image of James Potter," the man said, breaking the eerie silence of the room. "But I suppose there is truth to the rumor that you have your mother's eyes."

"You knew my mother?"

"She fought along the wrong side, did she not? She surely died because of it."

Harry felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He was not prepared for such a revelation. His mother had opposed Riddle, and died for it? Something pulled at his heartstrings. But… how could his mother and father have fought on opposing sides? How… if they loved each other? The Order in this universe had never remotely appealed to him, but with the knowledge that his mother had fought and died for the Light, a certain overwhelming need to avenge her roiled in his gut. It was a problem to mull over at another time. Right now, he needed to regain control of the situation. Voldemort 2.0 had caught him by surprise and Harry couldn't let his feelings rule him—he had a plan to enact.

Harry's lips twisted in a wry smirk. "But my father remained ever loyal to the Knights. He didn't believe wizards should hide their power from Muggles, and I hold the same belief."

Voldemort sat back in his chair, studying him with dark, piercing eyes. "So like your father, then. The dog has raised you well. And from what I hear, your dueling is incredible to behold?"

Harry wondered briefly if he would have to duel a Death Eater that very evening to prove it so. Malfoy had seemed to believe they would.

"I've been fortunate to have a good education."

Voldemort tilted his head in approval. "And humble… that no one told me. It says very much when a wizard does not boast of his power."

"I believe my actions should speak for themselves," he dipped his head. "My Lord."

The Dark Lord's face was inscrutable, but Harry saw the surprise flash quickly through his eyes, his Auror training kicking into high gear. Voldemort had expected a pompous child ready to show off at command and slinging names around like a shield, not a poised wizard who would not easily rile.

"It pleases me that you have desires set on the Ministry, that you are capable of dueling gracefully - like a good soldier - like a trained one."

"I regret that my father died defending our right to stand freely in all our glory in front of Muggles, My Lord. I think it's wrong. I think the _Statutes of Secrecy_ are an archaic attempt at peace that no one wants or needs any longer."

Voldemort sat forward in his chair, steepling his long, pale fingers under his chin. "And tell me, Harry, what do you want in a career at the Ministry?"

"A position where I might influence change, My Lord."

Harry felt the Dark Lord's power unfurl from the recesses of his billowing cloak that now seemed to ripple with energy. Voldemort was handsome and sleek and clever and _charming._ It was a Voldemort he hadn't faced before.

"A noble request." A flick of the wrist and a cigar flew to outstretched pale, fingers. "And what else is it you desire from me?"

It was then that he chose to look in Harry's mind. Harry thrust his guards up and fortified them with hard packed resilience, but when Voldemort kept pushing, he allowed him to break through lest he rouse suspicion. He was careful to only give memories he wasn't loathe to give. Memories of him being a prat in nearly every situation, memories of duels, and begrudgingly… of his desire and lust for a Muggle-born.

"Impressive." Voldemort eyed him with a hungry gleam. "You seem capable of keeping everyone out but me. Tell me, did you allow me to pass?"

"No, you were stronger, My Lord."

Satisfaction burned in Voldemort's gaze. He now thought he had Harry right where he wanted him. He now presumed he was stronger. "Let's get to it then, what is it you wish to ask me?"

"There is a girl, a Muggle-born, I know you have seen her."

Voldemort nodded, his eyes serious and his tone crisp and business-like. "I have."

"I want her. Call it an affliction we Potters bear. Allow me to have her, and I am yours to command." Harry looked the menacing dark wizard in the eye, careful to shield his deepest thoughts whilst allowing his most useless ones to linger just at the recesses of his mind.

"Your request is not out of line." Voldemort steepled his fingers and eyed him with open curiosity. "But I would remind you: bedding a Muggle-born was your father's folly."

"A folly which I'm grateful to him for."

Voldemort chuckled, the sound rich and hypnotizing. "Of that I'm sure. I have no issues in granting you permission to keep her. It's not I that has been taking the Muggle-borns, after all."

Harry let his face twist in a carefully erected frown. "Then who is, My Lord? Is it Longbottom?"

Voldemort laughed, and the sound was not unappealing. "Hardly. That boy and his group of misfits who call themselves a resistance are of no concern. They are nothing and can be easily dealt with at my behest, all five of them. He is merely a menace to society and order. I'm certain the Muggle-borns are fleeing on their own. It is possible the other Ministries are granting them asylum."

"But Carrow said you mean the Muggle-borns to serve?"

"I mean for power to thrive. I mean to break the wall between our world and the Muggle world." His voice had rose several octaves. "If a Muggle-born can best a Pureblood, then I say they have earned a spot in replacing said Pureblood. Magic is Might, _not_ blood. Power trumps it all _._ "

"I admit, part of my infatuation for my Muggle-born lies in the power I sense in her."

"I see that, and perhaps she has earned her place on her own. The magicfolk who wish to shield the Muggles from the knowledge of our existence our weak. Many of them are themselves Muggle-borns, so if there is a Muggle-born that cannot best their oppressor, they deserve their fate, whether that be a position of servitude, or something else. Don't you agree?"

"Of course," Harry lied flawlessly. "But will you allow the Muggle-borns to keep fleeing?"

Voldemort's full lips curled into a wicked smile. "There are already policies in the works that will make international travel much more difficult. I'm not keen on my citizens adding to the ranks of foreign countries and I can promise you that such activity will see a drop in the coming months."

Harry was more thankful than ever that he had asked for Hermione's protection. Perhaps leaving Britain would not be such an easy endeavor in the future, but where there was a will, there was a way.

The dread that settled in the pit of his stomach never quite ebbed, despite how well the meeting seemed to be going, and perhaps that was partly to blame for why Harry was able to react as quickly as he had. Voldemort flashed his wand so quickly, he was sure he saw it blurr, but Harry was not without his own rapid reflexes.

As the dark curse hurdled towards Harry, he shot forth a shield from how own wand without uttering a word. The shield was strong and glimmered with an iridescent sheen that stuttered once Voldemort's own curse slammed into it. Auror instincts kicking in, it was at this point that Harry would throw a spell of his own, but he only just managed to stop himself.

It occurred to him that this was another attempt by Voldemort to test him. Attacking the Dark Lord in turn would surely send up a red flag. Harry had to hazard through the attack carefully. While Harry fought against the urge to answer Voldemort's curse with his own, Voldemort was steadily increasing the power of his spell and ruthlessly attacking the shield Harry had cast, but his shield didn't waver.

Harry marveled at how easy it was to fortify his shield against the powerful onslaught of Voldemort's magic. He could feel how strong the curse was becoming, but his shield stood steadfast, barely requiring the strengthening power Harry sent it. He thought about the threat he'd recklessly told Malfoy. Harry had claimed Britain would have two dark wizards to contend with should his meeting with Voldemort end poorly, but a sickly seed of doubt had caused him to wonder if he could really back up such a claim.

Now that his magic was directly battling the force of Voldemort's own magic, the doubt started to creep from his mind.

Harry was _powerful_.

He felt more powerful than ever before, certainly more so than he had in his own universe, and he'd been practicing steadfast after he'd been taken by surprise by Lestrange. The only thing he had was his skill with a wand. At twenty-five, he was no longer able to find joy from mounting a broom, or his former wife for that matter. It was only magic and firewhisky that gave him solace. He'd felt the difference upon first finding himself in the body of his alternate universe's self, and arrogantly believed that the fit and uninjured body would provide him with a means to wield his powerful magic even more intensely than before, but he'd yet to directly battle someone he actually considered a challenge.

The dark, insidious lure to give into the overwhelming need to duel with abandon and test his limits was difficult to ignore, but he satisfied the urge to fight by channeling his power into the shield he'd erected.

He didn't need the confirmation but it was there in the way Voldemort curled his lip in concentration and clenched his wand until his knuckles were white—Harry was amazingly strong in this universe, stronger than he'd ever been at the height of his power before. Whether that be a result of traveling through dimensions and using the World Changer or combining his essence with the lingering magical trace of the Harry he'd replaced, the knowledge was irrefutable.

He saw something dangerous flash in Voldemort's eyes which prompted Harry into action. Twisting his face in a grimace as if the spell was causing him far too much exertion, he let some of his power recede from the shield. Strategically, and not too quickly, he allowed his shield to crumble and when it came down completely he made a show of jumping out of the way and tumbling over the carpeted floor. He intentionally wasn't quick enough to avoid the piercing impact of the powerful curse.

Harry sank his teeth into his lower lip to keep from screaming as he clutched the arm that burned from where the curse had hit him. The burning agony spread to his upper arm and the previous elation he'd felt from the knowledge that he'd tested Voldemort's power and found he and the Dark Lord evenly matched waned slightly.

He was distantly aware of footsteps approaching and then Voldemort towering over him, assessing him as if he were a peculiar puzzle.

"The _Determius Curse_ ," he finally explained, his cool gaze regarding him carefully. "It causes extreme pain that only heightens with the elevation of the victim's panic."

Harry froze in his movement and made a valiant effort to ignore the searing pain as he attempted to clear the fog from his mind. Sure enough, the calmer he grew inversely affected the intensity of the curse until it had dimmed to nothing but a dull throbbing.

"Impressive defense magic, Harry." Voldemort motioned for Harry to pull himself from the ground and Harry did so instantly. "Your magic is strong and I sense a tremendous amount of potential."

Harry tried not to waver as he got to his feet and faced Voldemort. The lingering remnant of channeling so much power and the joy he felt over deceiving Voldemort made for a heady mixture. He'd so far proved his worth but pulled back before he could be regarded as a true threat. The dark and dangerous feeling Harry knew resulted from calling on so much magic left him feeling slightly reckless and anxious for action. At the beginning of the night he'd hoped he'd be able to check on Hermione upon his return, but thought better of seeing her in his current state.

"I only hope you find me fit to serve you, My Lord."

There was an almost greedy gleam in Voldemort's eyes and Harry imagined he was even now devising the best way to use his new recruit, but Harry felt his own share of triumph. Bowing to the dark wizard after Voldemort dismissed him, Harry fought the urge to smile as he turned to face the exit. He'd more than survived his first meeting with Voldemort and had a greater understanding of just what he himself was capable of. His deception coupled with the awareness of just how powerful he'd become made him ache to test his limits. The desire to brush his riled magic against Hermione's caused his eyes to briefly squeeze shut in need.

Oh, yes.

He definitely needed to avoid her at all costs this evening, despite how badly his body wished to do the opposite.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	13. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Beta Love to LeanaM!_

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione laid out her sleeping bag close to the wall and next to Parvati.

There was something comforting about being with a friend that had been decent to her even before _Lord Potter_ had come into her life and declared her fit to interact with. There weren't that many girls in attendance - no - it was rather exclusive. There was Parvati, Pansy, Daphne, Lavender, Rose, Ginevra, and Jacqueline. One witch from every house, she noticed, but most definitely the witches in attendance were the ones who ruled the school.

"Are you sure Umbridge won't check up on us and be very angry we are out of bed?" Hermione couldn't help but worry her lip.

"Honestly, Hermione," said the Hufflepuff girl that the others had heralded a hero for bringing the firewhisky, "don't be such a spoilsport."

"Just wondering," Hermione grumbled to herself, pulling her pillow tighter to her chest and wishing it had been Harry she was embracing instead.

Pansy cracked the bottle of firewhisky and poured a few drops of what appeared to be Veritaserum into the contents. "Now it gets interesting," she proclaimed. "We each take a swig and ask a question to the last person."

The girls took turns passing around the bottle. Hermione felt rather silly. What if they asked her something personal or embarrassing? Well of course they _would._ These were the girls that had taunted her for years.

"Granger's turn, since she's on the end," Lavender decided, swaying in her seat as her nightgown made her look sort of angelic. "Do ask Parvati something good."

"Okay." Hermione nodded, attempting to clear her rapidly fuzzing mind. "You used to be best friends with Tracey Davis. Then she never came back after Sixth Year, and now you never speak of her. What happened?"

"Oh!" Pansy eyed Parvati gleefully. "Good one, Granger."

Parvati looked distinctly uncomfortable as she shot Hermione a reproachful glance. "Well… " she began hesitantly. "We _were_ friends, it's true. But what was I supposed to do? It was in the papers this summer. I know everyone saw it. _The Prophet_ said that Davis provided sanctuary for the trio. You know… Neville, Luna, and Susan. How could I ever speak to her after that? It's shameful that she would help them. And then she didn't come back to school? Well… if that doesn't _scream_ guilt I'm really not sure what does. Geez, Hermione, why did you have to ask me that?"

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, feeling truly regretful, but she had been curious. Davis was another one that had always been decent to her, though indifferent. Still, Hermione didn't want to make Parvati feel bad.

Parvati was always so nice to her, and here she was embarrassing her! She wanted to tell her that she had liked Tracey too, that Tracey had never been downright mean to her, and that she thought she was brave, but she clamped down on the words lest she humiliate herself.

"Parvati," Lavender said, perching her hands authoritatively on her babydoll nighty. "You next."

"Okay, Jacqueline. Was Higgins positively livid when he found out he wasn't Head Boy?"

All eyes drew to the Hufflepuff in question as a sly grin tugged at her lips. "His sister said he wouldn't come out of his room for days last summer. He wanted to hex Nott, I'm sure of it. He worked so hard on his studies, and he should have known it was Nott he'd have to face in the end, but you know. Us Puffs have only two classes with the Slytherins, not enough to decide who is the greater threat. But of course it was Nott in the end."

The girls giggled at Higgins distress. "Rose," she turned to the Ravenclaw witch, "is it true that you guys have orgies every full moon in that Ravenclaw Tower of yours?"

"Dear God," Rose chuckled, clutching her scantily clad chest, "it was _one time_ during a bloody _eclipse._ And I don't know. We had read about the power that came from coupling under such a thing and yes - we just _did it_ \- and it was great. Seriously, the best sex of my life." Amid the chuckling, she turned to Brown who lay sprawled beside her. "And what about you, Little Lion? Trouble in Weasley paradise?"

Brown sat up for her turn. "Yes, there is trouble." She let out a sigh of exasperation. "And it's not even all of the _Lady Hermione_ business, though that's what you might think."

Hermione felt guilt claw up her throat as she remembered Weasley's odd behavior lately. It might have been the questionable bet he had made with Harry. She did feel sorry for Lavender though, who did have to endure his sour mood.

"He's been a bit rough during sex—too rough. It's as if he's determined to get some control somewhere and I'm the lucky outlet for his anger. My quim is always so sore and it's as if he wishes to exert power of me to show that he isn't _powerless_ , which obviously just makes me believe he is. I don't think he even enjoys it, the sex, that is. It's more to prove he is still a man, I think. It's bloody pathetic and really getting a bit old."

"Typical Ronald," Ginevra commented drily.

"He's such a prat," Daphne said, examining her fingernails. "You shouldn't put up with his shit."

"We're sort of in a routine, these days. We just _are_ and I don't even think about what it would be like to not be together." Lavender wrinkled her nose as if she found the notion revolting.

"Well he clearly doesn't deserve you," Pansy was quick to assure her. "I don't think he should be with anyone right now until he figures out his shit."

Hermione could not help but feel she had dodged a bullet in thwarting Weasley's advances. The idea of him doing those things to her made her sick to her stomach. She felt a stab of pity for Lavender.

"Anyway, Gin," Lavender continued, shaking Weasley from her mind. "Does Zabini truly live up to the name the _Italian Stallion?_ We all do so want to know. He is so damn sexy. Whenever you aren't shagging him, there's a bloody line out the castle door."

To her credit, Parvati did not avert her gaze though Hermione imagined the girl would feel rather embarrassed.

"Made me come five times last night, I shit you not," Ginevra exclaimed, smile plastered over her face. "Fucking amazing. Three has always been my max, but he's so eager, you know? Like it's his sole purpose in life. I'm just along for the bloody ride, and boy is it ever a ride. I'm not letting that man out of my bloody sight ever again." She shot Parvati a glare.

"That's impossible," Jacqueline said dubiously.

"Don't be sour," Ginevra quipped back. "But Blaise is all mine. The man seriously has a thousand positions he wants to try and fuck me silly if I don't want to try every one." She turned to Greengrass. "And Daphne, have you been able to fracture that ice sculpture that is the Head Boy? Merlin, but it's as if he doesn't have an original thought all through the damn day. He's so focused all the time. I swear, he never lets loose."

"You know…" Daphne started, staring at Ginevra. "I think it's because he's so intelligent? He seriously knows more about magical theory than Wenlock herself."

Hermione had to snicker inwardly at the absurdity of that.

"The man is a bloody inspiration," she continued. "He just needs to relax a bit and give into his baser desires."

"Slip him a lust potion?" Rose offered.

"Now that would be hilarious," Daphne laughed, ever the good sport. "But I'm sure the sodding-know-it-all would detect it in a heartbeat and then he would start breaking down the ingredients and lecture me on which potions are more effective and why. Everything turns into a lesson with him."

"Maybe he wouldn't though?" Parvati offered hopefully. "It's worth a try."

Daphne snickered and threw her hands in the air as if at a loss. She turned to face Pansy. "What about you and Malfoy? I heard you and him snogged after Potions last Thursday?"

Pansy snorted, stretching backwards so her camisole would climb up her toned stomach. "Yes we _snogged._ He's fantastic at it, obviously. It only made me wonder how good he is at fucking."

The snickers turned to laughs and Hermione's discomfort crept up amid the noise.

"Thank Merlin he isn't a prude like Nott. I don't think it will be long until we get to that point. Sweet Circe, I hope not." Amid the chuckling, she shifted her attention to Hermione. "Hermione, darling," Pansy said silkily. "You've been rather quiet. So inquiring minds want to know: What is your favorite thing that Harry does to you?"

Hermione gulped, feeling a bit trapped. She had consumed wine laced with truth serum, and would it be embarrassing to admit what she liked about Harry? Surely it would. Horrifying, actually. They would all laugh at her!

"Um…" Hermione nursed her glass. "You know, it's rather nice when he… when he… when he lets his control slip. Yes, that's lovely. You see, because he gets a bit passionate - desperate even - like he needs sustenance and you are that one and only thing he needs to survive. It's bloody divine, because you feel it too—it's sort of contagious, you know? And you just want him to cast aside his reservations and _just go with it,_ I don't know. I like when he kisses me, or touches me like I may disappear, or mumbles things he can't possibly mean because they are just too sexy and surely he can't really be serious. Sweet Circe, I don't know… just when he stops trying to be good I guess."

Brown exhaled a long breath through her nose. Pansy's eyes - upon inspection - had become hooded - and Hermione realized with a jolt of terror that she was rather too blunt in her assessment. Damn Veritaserum.

"Sodding Hell," Parvati proclaimed wide eyed. "If that isn't dead sexy."

"Oh, I know all about getting _him_ to lose control," Pansy was quick to assure them. "It's not all _dear Granger_ has it cracked up to be, but it's sweet to be sure."

"I don't know," Rose said skeptically. "Looks like you let one get away, Parkinson. Potter is a right sex god, by the looks of him."

Pansy pouted at the accusation, but instead of receding into her shell, Pansy - the queen of changing the subject - started a new game. "How about a game of Dare? Hm? Anyone too scared to play?"

Hermione could hardly hear the other girls, too focused on Harry. Merlin, why did he have to be gone? It had been two weeks since they'd shared that intimate moment at the hotel and not much had happened between them since. Distance and sweet nothings.

She could care less for distance and sweet nothings.

Hands linked above her head, she stretched over her sleeping bag, her thoughts centered around Harry. The week had been lovely, to be sure. She'd earned points for her house—the next best thing to being alone with him. The looks of sheer shock on her professors' face when she answered seemingly difficult questions correctly and effortlessly had been something like a personal triumph.

When the notion to raise her hand struck her and she would normally second guess herself, he was right there, encouraging her. She drew strength from his presence. He was something like an inspiration, and even though he'd been gone for the day at his mysterious trip with his godfather, she still wished he was here. She still wished she had kissed him goodbye—kissed him like she wanted to.

Let him try to leave her when she kissed him with all the passion that she meant to. Bloody Harry and his control. For two weeks he'd been the picture of a gentlemen, refusing to go the next step with her as she wished him to, like she knew he _could do._ He was aloof and so carefully collected that - Merlin! - no one could reach him.

_The next time I see him, I'm launching myself at him._

The promise was made with every ounce of her being. Holy Hormones! Didn't he know she had desires? Why did he tease her with sweet kisses when his fingers had been so familiar with her quim she'd seen _stars._ Dear Godric, but the man acted like it _never happened._ Didn't even discuss it! He couldn't give her that and then revert to innocent snogging ever since their return. That couldn't be how it worked. What was he afraid of?

"I dare Ginevra and Lavender to snog each other senseless!" Pansy's voice cried out triumphantly.

Absently, Hermione looked to where Ginevra had pulled Lavender flat over her chest, encircling the girl in her arms and delivering on her promise. The two snogged as if unaware anyone else was in the room. Ginevra's hands roamed brazenly over Lavender's ample curves. The girls giggled but Hermione reared back as if threatened.

"I need to go to the loo," she blurted, straightening from her seat.

"I'll go with you," Pansy offered distractedly, eyes glued to the Gryffindors.

"That's all right."

"Potter will be mad if we lose you." Pansy shot her an irritable look, as if she were a chore to keep up with.

Hermione scowled. "Dear Merlin—I'll be right back."

But she wouldn't.

Hermione would flee because the other girls made her feel uncomfortable with their questions and their dares. She walked away swiftly and then ran as soon as she was out of sight. Hell if she knew where she was going. She didn't dare go back to her dorms - not when Parvati might look for her there - no. She kept going, until she was ascending flights of stairs. She adjusted the collar of her night shirt which came to her elbows and pulled up her sleep pants that had again fallen to her hips. It was the logical thing to wear in such a drafty old castle, despite what the other girls had been wearing.

She trailed off, feeling silly and judgmental. So the _Sleepover Girls_ dressed a bit more scantily than her. Who was she to judge? They were just a bit intense, if not completely abrasive, and she couldn't help but remember her treatment at their hands for the past six years. It was difficult to shake the feeling that she really didn't belong with them.

The air got colder as she neared the Astronomy Tower, but she didn't care, she needed the fresh air. She wanted to look outside and see the stars. The firewhisky flowing through her bloodstream provided some heat but could also be to blame for her reckless departure. She knew it wasn't exactly wise to wander the castle on her own, especially after dark, but she longed for freedom.

When she rounded a corner, she was immediately assaulted by the sweet smell of smoke. Alarmed, she realized she wasn't the only one who had decided upon a midnight stroll to the Astronomy Tower that evening.

"Bollocks, Granger," Malfoy swore. "What the Bloody Hell are you doing here?"

"Sorry, Malfoy," she told him, simultaneously relieved to see him and not someone else that might mean her harm. She stifled a giggle—when had she determined Malfoy was safe? So much had happened in recent weeks. Her world had near flipped upside down. "I just needed a break from the girls. They're acting a bit… _randy_."

"Really?" For the first time in ever, Malfoy looked interested. "Is that a fact?"

Hermione nodded numbly, not liking the greedy look in the Slytherin's eyes in the least. Maybe she had been too quick to categorize him as _safe._

"Oh sod off, Malfoy," came another, calmer voice, "you're scaring her."

Draco stepped away revealing Harry leaning against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He appeared to be a little worse for wear. His hair wasn't particularly as well kept as it usually was, but even messy it looked stylish. He took a deep inhale and exhaled the sweet-smelling smoke from the side of his mouth. Hermione watched, entranced as it billowed and curled through the air.

"Hermione." Bright green eyes raked over her form almost hungrily. There was something dark and a little dangerous that lingered in his eyes that called to her and forced her body on high alert. He took several strides forward and shrugged out of his coat before draping it over her shoulders. Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched him with bated breath. This was the Harry she liked to see—the one who grappled with and lost his control. "You shouldn't be up here all alone."

She was content to merely watch him, neglecting completely to offer excuses as she pulled the coat tighter around her.

"We'll talk more later," came Malfoy's silky voice. "I might try and crash a certain sleepover. See you at breakfast."

Harry inclined his head and flicked his cigarette off the ledge before pulling his attention back on Hermione. "Were the girls cruel to you?"

She shook her head, unwilling to pull her eyes away from his captivating green eyes. "How was your trip with your godfather?" Her voice was soft and her eyes were heavy.

Harry sighed and cast his eyes towards the night sky. "Illuminating," he finally answered, his tone hollow. "Did you know my mother died fighting the Dark Lord?"

Her brows knitted together, and she tried to rein in her surprise at the revelation. "But that doesn't make sense." She shook her head again, wracking her brain for information on the Dumbledore movement. "Your father was a general for the Knights. How could your mother have fought against them?"

He cast one last look outdoors, before striding up to her and placing his hand on the small of her back. He guided her from the Tower. "It doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"Two people that love each other can't fight on opposing lines in a war," she said with conviction. "Someone has to yield."

Hermione could feel his power. It wasn't the same as when he intentionally let it out to touch hers, but she could sense it just the same. Perhaps she was growing attuned to it—attuned to him. It was angry and riled. Somehow, the chaos made her want to draw _closer_. Every breath she took was rich with the lingering remnants of his magic. She allowed him to lead her through the stairwell and took every opportunity to study the side of his face. It was strained and he seemed not quite present—lost in his own thoughts.

"Come on," he held her arm tighter. "It's time to get you to bed."

Heat crept up her face as the firewhisky in her blood forced her to speak. "Are you propositioning me, Harry?" Her lips curled in a smirk. She could see now was not the time to tease him, but she couldn't be bothered to care. "Not that I'm complaining." Okay, the liquor was definitely getting to her. Or the Veritaserum. She typically was never so bold.

He slanted his gaze over to meet hers and stared at her hard. "I'd caution you not to make those kind of remarks right now," he warned. "You can't began to understand the kind of night I've had."

She tugged on his hand insistently. "So then tell me. I want to be there for you."

They stopped in the corridor and Harry glanced around before pulling her into a nearby alcove. "It's just all fucked up. Everything is, and _everybody._ I never know who is being real and who is just pretending. There are so many secrets and they're starting to wear on me." He looked at her earnestly and grabbed both of her hands in his. "You're the only _real one_ , the only person I know who's being honest."

She preened under his praise. "You can trust me." She broke away from his hand and leaned up to cup his face. "I'll never lie to you."

Harry swallowed and looked away quickly, but not fast enough so that she couldn't see the guilt in his eyes.

"I know what you're doing. You're beating yourself up about sixth year, but you don't need to. I know you're not the same person as you were then."

He snorted. "That's for sure."

"So you don't need to worry about it. It was just a childish prank, and I've forgiven you. You've more than made up for it, believe me."

He swallowed convulsively and shook his head, his eyes growing stormy and brimming with so many emotions she could hardly discern them all. "You need to go to bed. It's late."

"Maybe that's not where I want to be." The firewhisky had definitely addled her brain, because all she could think about was how gorgeous he looked. Rose had been right, he could definitely be classified as a _sex god._ His jaw was so chiseled it looked like it could be carved from stone. His lashes were so thick and swept over his green eyes when he looked down and away from her. He was devastatingly handsome. _Harry, I'd follow you over a cliff._ She felt giddy with desire for him. "Maybe I want to be with you… wherever you are."

She stepped forward into his personal space and closed the distance between them. Once there, she had no plan, but instinct took over. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, body flush against his. Merlin, she hoped he wouldn't stop her. He always seemed to make sure he was in perfect control, but she hoped to fracture some of it at least a little bit. She needed this.

Thought fled her brain as her body took over.

Harry was kissing her in an alcove after hours where they might be happened upon by anyone, but he didn't seem to care because he was _letting her_ , and for that she rejoiced. She dropped her concerns at his feet and kissed him soft and gentle so that her eyes fluttered shut at the contact. He let her lead and moved his lips softly, but Hermione wanted to deepen the kiss. She wanted to entice the Harry she so seldom saw to come out and play.

She rested her hands on his arms and he winced. Frowning, she glanced at his coat-clad arms. "Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," he quickly dismissed, his hands landing in her waist and pulling her closer. "Just a little scrape is all."

If he'd met to distract her, it was working. He kissed her soft and gentle, but she could sense his restraint and wanted badly to fracture it. She licked his lips.

"Harry," she whined, as desire raced down her spine. His lips tasted warm and pliant and like something wholly out of this world and delicious. "I want to be with you… closer _to you._ "

He broke away from her and spun her around so fast until he had her pinned up against the wall, his hands caging her face. His face had contorted into an expression that looked downright wicked and Hermione felt a flicker of triumph. "I'll tell you one more time," he said between clenched teeth as she watched wide-eyed. "I think you should go to bed. That's where good girls go."

Adrenaline pounded at her temples and she tried to think of how best to push him. Whatever happened with his godfather had sent his emotions in turmoil, and she really shouldn't exploit it, but opportunities very seldom presented themselves. "Maybe I don't want to be good," she rasped, hardly able to believe what she was saying. "Unless it's you who'll be taking me to bed."

With a growl, he hauled her forward, lips attacking her throat. Around a moan she shoved her hands in his hair, relishing in the silky feel of it against her fingertips. He trailed his tongue up the column of her neck before reaching her ear and licking the shell.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, squeezing and pulling, hoping desperately that he would give in to both of their urges and sate her desire for him to take charge. Normally, he was good at holding in his temper… desire… and whatever he struggled with, but tonight was different. Tonight he picked her up and pressed her harder into the stone wall, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist. The coat fell from her shoulders leaving her in nothing but her pajamas. He was decidedly overdressed.

"You don't understand." He rocked his hips and her eyes rolled back. "Now isn't the right time. There are things you need to know before—"

"I don't care. Please, Harry, I need this."

He broke away from her neck but didn't relinquish his grip around her waist. She could tell he was torn with his decision but prayed she would win this battle. Mischief sparkling in her eyes, she called for her magic and allowed it to brush against him ever so slightly.

His nostrils flared and his face fell slack. She watched, entranced, as his eyes darkened. Deliberately, she felt the caress of his own magic as it touched hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as a gasp tore from her throat. _Sweet Morgana, but how good he feels!_ The wild magic she sensed was something else entirely when it danced with hers. The euphoric feeling laced fire through her veins and left her feeling a heady sense of elation. In a moment, she'd be begging for more.

"Fine," he finally answered her, "but not here. I'm taking you to the Room of Requirement."

Hermione nodded eagerly lest he have time to change his mind. Whatever she could get, she would take. Her need for him was _aching_ , and she was through with depriving herself of the one thing she wanted.

Him.

**~oOo*oOo~**

There was a small part of him advising him to stop, but it was _very small_.

Much louder was all-encompassing need to please her.

Harry kept his trousers on, despite her insistent tugging, but he'd removed his shirt and she'd removed hers and now they were pressed together, hot skin against hot skin, and tongues thrashing against each other in a heated kiss. He could kiss her for an eternity and never grow bored. He savored her taste and the decadent flavors of her mouth. Harry was beyond content with the object of his affections nestled in his arms, but her growing need prompted her to keep pushing his boundaries.

It was hard to deny Hermione anything, especially when she lifted those honey brown eyes to meet his. She caught him at a time when he was vulnerable, when his control was already slipping, and when he was questioning everything he knew or thought he knew. He knew the reasons for denying her advancements, the largest of all being that she had no idea about the secret he harbored. It made him feel considerably like a monster, to become close with her when she thought he was someone else, but he had let her see the real him and she had accepted the change she saw. Still, he paraded as someone else and until she knew _everything_ he could hardly unite with her fully.

"Harry," her voice was husky and full of need.

He knew what she needed, he was only worried about his discipline. When he had Hermione pressed up against his chest and his fingers up her dress, the urge to throw her on her back and make mad love to her had been overwhelming. He knew it was dangerous to allow such moments of intimacy between them. Not only was their relationship so young and their trust on shaky ground, but she still didn't know who he was—not truly. He needed to make sure he at least kept that much control over the situation or he would never forgive himself and certainly neither would she.

He slipped his fingers underneath the thin straps of her bra and let them fall to her shoulders as he proceeded to lick and nip at her collar bone. She gasped her approval and surged closer so she could straddle him. Her hands caressed his bare shoulders before meeting at his neck and sneaking into his hair. He liked the way she massaged his scalp with her fingers, alternating between rubbing his locks and scratching her nails over his head. It made him hiss with barely suppressed need. He was already hard and had been since pressing her into the wall in the corridor earlier that night. His body was always ready for her, but now he was rock hard and the feel of her heated core resting over his arousal made him want to bury himself in her tight heat.

Her sleep clothes were ridiculously thin and didn't leave much to the imagination. He slithered one hand around her back and deftly relieved her of her bra. She gasped again and allowed it to slip off her arms completely. Reining in his desire, he allowed his hands to roam brazenly over her chest and focused with rapt attention on her breasts. He found out very quickly how much she liked him kneading and touching her there. Her head fell back and her eyes screwed shut as a litany of whimpers escaped her throat.

"That's it, love," he encouraged, wincing out how rough his voice sounded. "Make those sounds for me, I need to hear them."

Again, he fought against the urge to shift his hips, even a little bit. It was sweet torture, but tonight was about her and he only ever wished to give her pleasure. She arched her chest into his hands, silently bidding him to continue and he leaned down to open his mouth around her nipple. The short, sharp moan she let out went straight to his straining cock and when she squirmed on top of him, he couldn't help but groan. He alternated between sucking and rubbing her breasts until he could no longer stay her hips with just one hand. She was a writhing mess and it was beginning to affect him.

His eyes strayed to the elastic bands of her pajama bottoms and he moved his hand from her hip and from her chest to loosen the drawstrings. She immediately tensed and went taut in his arms as her languid gaze dropped to see what he was doing. He moved torturously slow, admiring the curve of her jaw and the way she sank her teeth into her lower lip as she watched him.

"Lie back," he demanded in a calm voice that didn't match the maelstrom rioting in his chest. She immediately complied and rested her head on the oversized couch, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Lift your hips."

Hermione blushed furiously but she obeyed that command as well, averting her eyes as he slid her sleep pants from her body then proceeded to climb back up and align himself with her.

His tongue swept across her lips and her mouth opened spectacularly for him. Their kiss became heated and provocative and far from the chaste kisses she had initiated earlier in the evening. Harry was addicted to her taste, and found it very much like a potent aphrodisiac he craved beyond reason. There was nothing else like it, and it set his senses on fire. The taste of her coupled with the feel of her magic as it mingled delightfully with his was enough to torment him and tempt him to go further. His hand came to rest on the narrow curve of her waist.

Her hand sneaked between their bodies and before he could stop her, Hermione had found his erection and rubbed him through his trousers. He hissed and instinctively jerked his hips, relishing in the delicious friction her body provided him. His eyes went even darker than before and thoughts rapidly fled him, but he regained control and took ahold of her hand before she could do it again. He took her other wrist and pressed it above her head and into the couch.

"Keep them above your head," he grit out, his breathing labored.

"But I want to touch you," she argued.

He shook his head, hoping to also shake the fuzziness from his brain. He needed to remember that though he'd harbored feelings for the Hermione from his world for years, he and this Hermione had only been together a month and he couldn't allow them to move too fast, even if she'd had a school girl's crush on the old Harry. "I make the rules."

Her lips pressed together in a petulant line. "Why do you get to?"

"Because I have more discipline."

"Discipline is over— _ah_..."

Her voice cut off when his fingers skimmed the soft inner flesh of her thigh and trailed lightly over her knickers.

He smirked as he kissed her way down her throat… her collarbone… her breasts… her stomach… all the while caressing her ever so lightly between the juncture of her thighs. He crept down her body and lifted one leg to lick a line behind her knee. She whimpered at the contact drew up on her forearms to see what he was doing. Harry considered chastising her for again not keeping her hands where he told her to, but was to caught up in tasting the delicious skin of her thighs. The higher he kissed, the more labored her breathing became until he took her by surprise and kissed her right over her cloth-covered slit.

The effect was instantaneous.

She clamped her thighs together hard and sat up quickly. "Harry." She looked a cross between excited and outraged. "What are you—"

He shushed her, rubbing the outside of her legs in a gesture meant to be soothing. "Lie back." His tone bartered no room for argument, and jerkily she complied. He wrenched her legs apart and she gasped in surprise. "Keep them spread," he told her darkly as he nestled between the slopes of her thighs. Her legs shook but she listened to him like the good girl she was.

He could feel the heat radiating from her. He could smell her arousal wafting through the air around him. How was he supposed to stop himself from instantly coming the second he thrust his tongue into her? His cock strained against his trousers, begging to be freed and for some sort of release. He wasn't sure he'd have the control, but he had to do this for her. He might not be able to reach his pleasure, but he'd make damn sure she did.

Letting his fingers trace languidly over her cloth-covered mound, he leaned down to follow the path with his tongue.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione could feel herself getting wet - embarrassingly so - and she would die of humiliation when Harry finally decided to rid her of her knickers and see just what a state he had her in.

She should feel victorious—she was getting exactly what she wanted, yet she was consumed by tension, suspended in the air and hanging by a thread. She craved relief and wished desperately that he wouldn't go back on what he started. She wanted to explore his body as he was able to explore hers. Whatever he was afraid of, she was completely clueless as to the reason behind it. Another wizard would enthusiastically welcome such eagerness to take their relationship to the next level, but Harry wasn't like other wizards. Sex didn't seem to be the focal point of his mind like it was for nearly everyone else she knew, but it wasn't like he lacked passion. No, when she pushed him further, she got a glimpse of his passion and it was formidable to behold. She knew sex with him would be on another level altogether.

Initially frozen with embarrassment, having never even imagined herself in such a position with him, her reservations were beginning to dissolve right along with her body as Harry continued his skillful movements. The burn between her thighs had evolved to bleating and she could not help but squirm as she fought the urge to keep her legs closed. A finger slipped underneath the hem of her knickers and her eyes shot open wide as her whole body convulsed.

Harry swore - something she heard him do rarely - and dug his free hand into her thighs to keep her still. Her neck reddened and she threw her arm over her mouth, biting it. He could feel how much she wanted him now, there was no denying it. It was shameful. Here he was, so controlled, and she was like a wanton animal, thirsting for him like her life depended on it. How had this even happened? Hermione had always been the disciplined one, truly a good girl in every sense of the title like he had taunted her about earlier. She felt far from that now.

The combination of his finger sliding and his mouth latching onto something sensitive and throbbing, even through the fabric, sent pleasure spiking through her body and whispering down her spine. The mewls left her mouth in a steady stream and there was no use trying to bite them back any longer—it was a lost cause. Conscious thought fled her and she forgot the rules, how this was happening, even where she was.. The slate of her mind started to wipe itself clean.

So she barely registered the fact that her knickers were being pulled from her legs and left to dangle from one ankle.

She did however, notice when Harry brought his mouth to her core - free of any barrier - and the second his tongue touched her pulsating quim.

Instinctively, she clamped her legs together in a vain attempt to trap him there and screamed at the resultant jolt of pleasure she felt, sitting up so fast she swayed precariously.

Harry cursed again, his head shooting up and she barely registered there was not a hint of green in his eyes, only black. He leaned across and over her, reaching behind her for some reason. She was blinded by his Quidditch-toned chest. She wanted to lick the muscles and tendons that flexed in his chest as he moved, but she was suddenly being pushed back against soft pillows, propping her. It was better because now she could see him. He crawled back down her body and wrapped his hands around her legs before leaning down once more with a look in his eyes that said he wanted to devour her.

And he did.

He feasted on her like she was his favorite treat, a treacle tart or something equally sweet. His tongue met her heat and melted. Her walls fluttered along with her stilted vision as she clamped down on him. Every fervent movement of his tongue stoked the fire racing through her veins. Unthinkingly, her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. Her legs worked hard against the death grip he held her in to keep her from bucking. It was so different from when he had worked his fingers in her the last time—more sensitive and so much more intimate.

He broke away to curl one of her legs around his neck. With his free hand, he found that sweet spot and rubbed her with deliberate, slow strokes. "That's right," his voice was gravelly, making gooseflesh rise on her skin. "You taste so good… you have no idea how good."

Leaning back down, his tongue joined his fingers and the added sensation edged her so quickly towards delirium she wanted nothing more than to fling herself over and lose herself in the promise of sweet bliss.

"Harry," she rasped. "More."

To her delight, he hastened his pace. Her breathing grew erratic and she felt hot all over. Harry was doing this to her, and she could hardly believe her eyes that it was him moving between her legs like that. It was better than any fantasy she could conjure. The things he told her sent sparks to her core. Her desperation for him spread and bloomed between her thighs like Fiendfyre.

"Wanna feel you come on my tongue," he told her between licks, "wanna see your gorgeous face when it twists in pleasure. I didn't get to before… fuck, I need to. I need it badly. You don't know what you do to me. Mmm… taste so good. Why don't you come for me? Say my name when you do. Can you do that for me, baby? Do it now."

With a curl of his finger and another fervent swipe of his tongue, her climax rocked through her. Her hips rolled against his tongue as lightning erupted behind her eyes. He watched her steadily as he continued working her, seeming to know instinctively just how to move and exactly how to prolong her pleasure. It was maddening how the man could know her body better than she herself did.

As reality slowly crawled back to her, she shifted and straightened, gasping when she felt the occasional quiver in her abdomen. He straightened too, his hair sticking up in every direction thanks to all her tugging, and his mouth glistening. He winced as if he was in extreme pain and he adjusted himself, breathing harshly.

Before her shyness could return, she hauled herself forward and anchored her arm around his neck to steady herself as she slipped her right hand under the waistband of his trousers.

" _Hermione,_ " he warned, but that one word was so full of need, she couldn't be dissuaded.

She massaged the back of his neck to soothe him as her fingers found hot flesh - rock hard - but somehow velvety at the same time. "Sh," she breathed in his ear, then gave him a light squeeze which made him groan loudly. He fell back against the couch and she went with him. "Tell me what to do."

She squeezed him lightly once more, then skimmed her fingers lower. His eyes drooped and fell to her neck, nuzzling and kissing her throat as she continued to rub him, unable to see what she was doing.

"Harry, you're supposed to tell me."

He mumbled something incoherent and kept sucking on her neck. Warm affection spread through her chest. She cradled his head and cooed encouragements in his ear. He bucked into her hand and she adjusted her grip to accommodate the movement, holding him lightly in her hand.

"Tighter," he bit out, sounding not very much like Harry.

She tightened her grip and he pumped into her hand. His lips trailed up her jaw and she got the impression he wanted to kiss her. She turned her head just so, carding her fingers through his hair. "Kiss me, Harry."

He groaned into her mouth and she tried not to freeze as she tasted herself on his tongue. Now was Harry's time and she wanted to see him lose control like she had. He attacked her mouth eagerly as he moved his hips with an urgency and she was surprised to discover a renewed tingling in her core. Apparently her hunger for him was not easily sated. It only took a few more strokes before something hot and wet was spilling over her hand. He broke their kiss and tried to hiss a warning, but she just smiled and kept her grip in place. His face contorted into a look of pure joy and Hermione wanted desperately to commit it to memory.

The triumphant feeling returned tenfold. They may not have gone all the way, but she had broken Harry's rules and he had let her. For once in their relationship, she felt powerful and it was a feeling she could get used to.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	14. Intro to Occlumency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **LeanaM is the bestest ever! Thank you for the wonderful beta Xx**

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

History of Magic was a joke.

Still taught by the ghost of Professor Binns, and still largely ignored by the students.

It was just another excuse to congregate in groups at the tables based on social stature and listen to gossip.

Harry sat rigidly between Malfoy and Hermione, attempting to appear impassive as his closest friends spoke excitedly about Christmas break.

" _Draco_ ," Pansy whined. "When are you going to pass out the invites for your mother's Winter Solstice Ball?"

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. "Is that the package I was Owled today?"

Hermione smiled and pressed her head against Harry's shoulder. He swallowed discreetly, attempting to relax, but secretly felt alarmed at the slightest contact.

Greengrass laughed. "You'd better invite us already. Break is in two weeks. I'm sure the rest of the wizarding world has been invited by now."

"Sure pays being your friend," Ginevra quipped.

Malfoy scowled. "Merlin, witches and their bloody planning."

Pansy's face twisted in outrage. "I have to get a dress, you know."

Parvati nodded eagerly. "Same. I don't have any good evening gowns in my closet."

"I highly doubt that," Hermione said, shooting her friend a teasing look. "Even your castaway stuff is great."

"No," Parvati giggled. "I'm serious, I really don't. It's been awhile since I've been to a formal function."

"We should shop at break," Brown suggested, looking around excitedly. "A girl's trip."

"Any excuse to spend Galleons," Hermione murmured under her breath so only Harry could hear.

"Will your parents be hosting their annual soirée?" Greengrass turned to Nott expectantly.

"I don't know," Nott drew his brows together in irritation. "I'm staying with Draco at his manor, anyway."

Greengrass huffed.

Parvati coughed. " _Potion._ "

The girls giggled and Nott looked around, confused.

Hermione took hold of Harry's hand and traced his palm with the soft pad of her fingertip. "Do you know what today is?"

"Hm?" Harry glanced around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

"It marks one month since you asked me out to Paris."

"Oh. Of course."

"Mmhmm." She smiled up at him. "Kind of like an anniversary, wouldn't you say?"

Harry nodded, feeling the heat creep up his neck.

"We should do something fun." Her hand crept under the table and squeezed his thigh.

Harry jumped and Hermione was forced to adjust herself. She looked up at him questioningly.

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, no doubt forcing a few strands out of place. Lately he had been feeling edgy, probably thanks to his huge slip up the weekend before. It was the second time he'd lost control with her, and he felt terrible. It was so hard to refuse her advances, especially after meeting up with this universe's Voldemort. He was already feeling out of sorts, and when she came to him he couldn't help but relent to her. She wanted physical contact and he had been sure he could give her that much without needing to fulfill his own needs himself, but he had been wrong. When she'd recovered from her orgasm, the mere sight of which had him spellbound, she proceeded to pounce on him and he hadn't been ready nor was he equipped to stave off such an attack. So he'd rutted in her hand like a bloody fourth year taking all of two minutes to seek his release. He had been surprised he hadn't simply come in his pants. He had been sure he was going to from the sheer taste of her alone.

One thing was glaringly clear, he couldn't control himself around Hermione as well as he thought he could. The most obvious solution to such a problem was eliminating physical contact altogether, but that clearly wasn't what Hermione wanted. He had to make her happy while still getting a grip on his own desire. One of these days, he'd have to confess to her about where he'd come from, and when he did so he didn't want her to feel used and taken advantage of. The easiest way to fix everything was to teach her Occlumency so he could begin trusting her with his secrets sooner rather than later, and hope to Merlin said secrets wouldn't send her running for the hills.

Shaking his head as if he could physically clear his mind by doing so, he looked over at Hermione who hadn't taken her eyes off of him. He was immediately alarmed by what he saw in her eyes. Hurt, fear, and rejection lingered at the surface. He panicked, the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel insecure.

Reaching his arm around her, he rubbed the small of her back. "I was actually going to ask you if you'd consider spending Christmas break with me at Grimmauld Place."

He inwardly winced at such a rash invitation. Not only had he never been to this universe's version of Grimmauld before, but he also didn't know how his family would treat Hermione. More importantly, how was he supposed to stave off his growing attraction for her in such close quarters and with no Girl and Boy Dorms separating them? Still, he couldn't leave her at the school and he doubted she would go home to her mother.

The fear of rejection abruptly vanished and gave way to sheer delight. She nodded eagerly. "Yes." She flashed him a smile. "I'd love to get away from the castle this Christmas."

So she really hadn't planned on going to her mother's. He returned her smile and let the love he felt for her shine in his eyes, even if it was too early and the situation was far too convoluted to tell her so. "Okay, my godfather and I would love to have you."

Her smile dropped.

He chuckled. "I'll make sure he's on his best behavior. He basically leaves me alone for the most part. There's just the parties and what not to go to."

Hermione exhaled a large breath through her nose and nodded again.

"And as far as our anniversary…" Harry trailed off, making sure the others were busy in their own discussions to pay them any mind. "I think we should try something different in our lessons tonight. Something more… cerebral."

She looked a little disappointed at the mention of lessons as a means to celebrate their anniversary. "Okay."

Harry sat back, feeling more at ease knowing he had a plan. He couldn't keep parading as someone else, not in front of Hermione. She needed to know the truth about him, and he needed her input. He was smart enough to realize that there were certain things he simply wasn't good at. She was resourceful, strategic, and an excellent researcher. With her by his side, he was confident there was nothing they couldn't tackle. She wanted to take their relationship to the next level? So did he. It was time she learned Occlumency.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione never put much stock in Divination.

In her opinion, it was a wasteful misuse of her time.

And as far as her tormentors were concerned, the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor class had always had the least, making her wish all her classes were with the Badgers. Justin Finch-Fletchy was also in attendance, and they frequently sat together in the back, before her newfound popularity _and_ before Harry.

Hermione always thought the worst thing about the class was how Professor Trelawney doted on Lavender.

Lavender Brown, who Hermione would never classify as exactly _studious_ , did remarkably well in Divination. Certainly much better than Hermione herself did. This was the only class she wished she could drop, but she had resigned herself to using Divination as a means to do her coursework for other classes. Harry's attention had shifted her goals. Lately, the class was a welcome opportunity to sit next to her boyfriend and listen to him poke fun at the professor and all the silly things they did in this class. It was almost as if he knew she abhorred the class, though she was sure she hadn't expressed the complaint to anyone, even Parvati.

"Tea dregs, again," Harry was saying, staring disdainfully at his cup. "Of all the silly things."

Hermione laughed, feeling truly lighthearted. "Right? It's nothing but glorified guesswork. You can hardly be precise with it at all."

"It's elective." Harry flashed her a brilliant smile. "It's not as if we _have_ to take it."

In all the years that she'd taken the course, she'd never considered _dropping it_ , though her class schedule was fairly full as it was. She'd always wanted to take on everything, and not doing so would feel like a failure, but now that Harry mentioned it, she definitely considered the idea.

"Look in the cup!" Professor Trelawney instructed eagerly, the light catching her ruby earrings. She wove in between the tables and chairs, stopping on occasion to peer inside a student's tea cup or just to tell them something ridiculous that couldn't possibly have any bearing in reality. "Miss Brown, what do you see?"

Lavender sat up straight and held the cup daintily in both hands. "It looks like the cross, Professor." The Gryffindor looked up, worrying her lip. "It appears I'll be facing hardships in the near future?"

The professor nodded and placed a hand on her favorite student's shoulder. "Beware of a a red-haired man, dear."

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what the Lavender would take that _prophecy_ to mean. Sure enough, she shot daggers at Weasley who was talking animatedly with Higgs and didn't appear to notice the warning.

When she approached their table, Hermione pulled her eyes unwillingly to her cup and attempted to find some symbol in the leaves. The professor placed her hand on first Hermione's shoulder, then Harry's, but when she did, her eyes rolled back and she tensed. Upon closer inspection, she appeared to be in a trance. She didn't stop clutching Harry, who froze once he noticed the teacher's odd behavior.

" _It will happen at night… the one with the power to vanquish Him will find answers in the forest when the twelfth month dies._ " The professor's voice had dropped several octaves and she didn't sound very much like herself at all. " _The champion will reunite with those lost to him. Together they will… defy… the master…"_

She chanced a glance at Harry only to find him more pale than she'd ever seen him before. Hermione couldn't deny feeling chills herself, and noticed gooseflesh had spread over her arms.

Professor Trelawney's posture fell slack and she seemed to shake herself, blinking a few times before refocusing. She glanced at first Hermione and then Harry and frowned. "Oh, my… the cup. What does it say, dear?"

Harry swallowed thickly before chancing a glance at his cup, neglecting completely to question their teacher over what she'd just told them in that strange voice. "It looks like a club."

The professor hummed. "Yes, yes, an attack. Be wary. Oh, and he doesn't much care for deskwork. Truly miserable, he is." Harry blanched once more as the professor turned towards Hermione. "And you, dear? What do you see?"

"Er," Hermione swallowed and tried to shutter the wariness in her eyes, "the sun? Meaning there will be great happiness in the future?"

Professor Trelawney blinked and looked at the cup before her eyes landed on Hermione again. "Oh, dear, I fear you have no skill for Tessomancy. That isn't a sun at all. Why don't you ask Miss Brown to help you?"

Hermione bit back a growl, almost forgetting about the strangeness they had just witnessed. Almost, but not quite.

"Do check on your mother, dear," the professor went on to tell her as if Hermione found her advice at all helpful. "She doesn't seem to be faring well without you."

She wrinkled her nose and sidled her chair closer to Harry when the professor - thankfully - walked off. "She's totally batty," Hermione said with a smirk. "I've never seen her talk in that voice before. It was weird." She glanced around, content to see very few students seemed to have noticed the odd exchange.

"Yeah," Harry's voice was husky and distant. "Total nutter."

"You don't think," she swallowed, her eyes finding his and studying him, "there was anything to that? I mean, vanquishing someone in the forest… reuniting… defying the master? It all sounded crazy of course..."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Harry was quick to reassure her, his smile back in place and his tone easygoing. "We really should drop this class. It's a complete waste of time, if you ask me."

Hermione nodded, and shoved the strange feeling of dread that culminated in her stomach away. Harry was right. Divination was the most imprecise branch of magic there was. She didn't know why the professor's words had affected her so. Trelawney's speech had given Hermione the same feeling she got when waking up from her dreams lately, but as the class wore on, the feeling of alarm subsided and she soon forgot about the exchange entirely.

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Are we really going to study tonight?" Hermione didn't want to complain, but there were other things she'd rather be doing with her and Harry's very rare and oh-so-precious alone time.

Harry smirked and she found it was contagious. "I thought you liked studying?"

She ducked her head, glancing at her shoes before making her way to the divian and sitting down. "I do. You know I do. But…" _There's other things I'd rather be doing_ , she wanted to scream.

"You'll like this, I promise." He sat down next to her, too far away in her opinion, but she didn't complain. "You are familiar with Legilimency, right?"

She frowned, unable to see where this was going. "Yes."

"So then you may have heard of Occlumency."

"The act of closing one's mind to a Legilimens. It's ancient and has been around since the Medieval times." She smiled proudly, hoping he'd be impressed with her knowledge on such a closely guarded topic.

"Mmhmm." He graced her with an indulgent smile and she preened. "So then you know what it is, but do you know how to go about… doing it?"

She felt her pulse increase at her temples. " _Doing it_?"

"That's right."

She snorted. "We're teenagers, Harry. Legilimency and Occlumency are a post graduate skill only certain factions of Ministry cleared jobs get to learn. How would I know about doing it?"

His eyes widened in surprise. What, did he think it was available to everyone who wanted to learn or something? "Oh. Well… I think I told you once about my private tutelage?"

Her jaw dropped to the floor—it had to have. "You're not saying…"

"I know how to do both, yes."

She reared back into the cushions, fear shrilling through her chest. "Have you done Legilimency on me?"

"No!" He put his hands up as if trying to calm a wild abraxan. "Of course not, Hermione. Merlin, you would have felt it if I had. I mean, unless I just barely grazed—, but no, I haven't okay? I would just… _like to_."

Suddenly, Harry appeared to be rather scary. Yes, as silly as it sounded, she was a bit scared of him. Her boyfriend! But here he was telling her he wanted to use _Legilimency on her_ \- she blushed just thinking about the thoughts that he might see - it was hardly normal! It wasn't like she needed another reminder of just how exceedingly powerful Harry was. Sweet Morgana, did his power know no bounds?

"Geez, Hermione, can you say something? I don't want to hurt you. I just want to teach you."

"Why?" Yes, that was good, a very good and normal question. He would hopefully have no idea how badly she wished to bolt right now. Well, unless he followed through on his threat to use Legilimency on her.

He ran both hands through his hair before slanting his hard emerald stare to look at her. "There's some things about me, things I want to tell you, that I can't. Not because I don't trust you, but because at any moment, someone could come skim your mind and you would unintentionally let them in on something important I only want to share with you. Do you understand? It's imperative you learn to shield your thoughts. Hermione, I _need_ to tell you this, I don't even think," he paused rubbing his temples, "I can't exactly, take our relationship to the next level until I've told you everything, do you understand? I know it sounds silly, but it's important to me that there's no secrets between us. Otherwise it'd be unfair to you, so Occlumency is the solution to that. I mean, it's good for so many things. Every witch and wizard should try to learn it. Not knowing it is a bloody liability. I know you understand that." His eyes lifted hopefully as he gave her a moment to speak.

Hermione could do nothing but stare unblinkingly at him as she tried to process what he said.

"Merlin, Hermione, please say something."

"Okay," she tugged on the hem of her lace-lined sweater, "you're saying we can't have sex unless I learn Occlumency?"

His jaw fell slack as he gaped at her.

She tossed her hands in the air. "That's what you're saying, right?"

His brows knitted together in confusion. "Merlin, is that really what you picked up from that?"

"Basically, yes."

"You would think you'd be more concerned with whatever it is I think is so important, you have to learn Occlumency first before I can tell you."

She gave an unapologetic shrug. "I can't think of anything you'd say that would be a dealbreaker."

His eyebrows rose challengingly.

She expounded. "Three hundred year old vampire who thirsts for my blood? Okay. Neville-sympathizer? I wouldn't mind. A great Potter-curse that forces you to turn into a wild beast every night? Manageable."

He laughed and she felt mildly comfortable by the genuineness of it. "And what if I have all those beat?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Doubtful."

"Do you want me to teach you or not?"

She placed a contemplative finger on her chin and gave him a measured look. "Why not? There's only so much you can learn from books, after all."

He grinned. "You continue to astound me every day."

And he continued to astound her. Just earlier that day she thought he might be trying to dump her, and now it turned out he was really grappling with some secret he felt compelled to tell her the whole time. No wonder he was so jumpy. It appeared her boyfriend did not do things by half measures.

"First things first." He twisted his upper body to face her. "You need to know there are several techniques to Occlumency, and they come in handy for more than just blocking your mind. Can you guess what else Occlumency helps with?"

The scholarly part of her rose to the challenge. "The _Imperius_ would be my first guess."

"Yes." He nodded, his expression satisfied. "It requires a tremendous amount of willpower, just like resisting the _Imperius_ does. That's probably the hardest part—developing your willpower, but anyone can."

She nodded, prodding him to continue.

"There are three techniques to Occlumency. The most basic is clearing your mind of thoughts and emotions. Forcing your mind blank will let the person using Legilimency know that you are blocking them, so that isn't exactly my favorite technique, but it's basic and the one you need to learn first."

She couldn't help but think he would make a good teacher. He really did have a way of explaining things so she could easily understand and he was riveting while he did so.

"Secondly," he took a deep breath and exhaled it, "there's the technique of allowing the Legilimens to see certain thoughts and feelings, but only the ones you want them to. You keep the rest - the important ones - hidden somewhere in your brain and locked away. No matter what, you don't let them see those. This way is better because the Legilimens thinks they are seeing all the important things when you are really fooling them. This technique takes more willpower." There was an earnest gleam in his eyes as he rested his forearms on his legs. "Finally, and this is my personal favorite, the third way is by falsifying memories and forcing the Legilimens to view fake ones of your creation. They won't be able to discern whether they are real or fake, and you'll mislead your enemy. That type of Occlumency is hardest of all, but is a much sought after skill."

"You want me to learn all of them?"

"At least up to the second, falsifying memories is tricky. It takes imagination and must be combined with the right emotions. But we'll start with the first, yes?"

The thought actually excited her. She never expected to learn such a complicated bit of magic _ever._ And she wanted to learn it. Desperately.

"Are you ready to start?"

The words sent a chill spiraling through her, and she wasn't sure if it was because the knowledge was so restricted or because it was him that would be casting the spell and looking into her mind. It was a major invasion of privacy, but he had her permission and it was for a great cause—she wanted to eventually have sex with the man eventually. _Great, Hermione,_ she mentally berated herself. _Let that be your last thought before he penetrates your mind. What a lovely word choice!_ Her cheeks were burning.

"I'm ready."

And then she tried to clear her mind. She knew she could do it. She had willpower. When Parvati gave her one of those chocolate boxes last Valentine's day, Hermione didn't tear through them all like her friend had. She indulged in one a day and made them last. That was willpower, right?

"Not exactly."

She jumped, her stance becoming defensive. "You didn't say you were going, you didn't even have your wand in your hand!"

"I wasn't doing it properly." His expression was patient but a little amused. "I told you, I could graze your mind if I wanted to, and someone who's untrained may not notice, but after our lessons, you'll notice even that. The main thing is to empty your emotions _completely_. Think of a devoid abyss. If you wear your feelings on your sleeves, you're going to have a hard time."

She lifted her chin with more confidence than she felt, and tried valiantly to clear her brain. "I'm ready," she said in a detached voice.

This time, he lifted his wand and pointed the holly at her head. " _Legilimens_."

It was barely a whisper, but she immediately felt the walls of her mind being breached. She tried to force her mind blank, but the foreign presence distracted her. It was _him,_ of course, and that realization distracted her even more. It felt like him, had his signature trace or something. Her body didn't want to recoil, but rather wanted to embrace him.

"Blank, Hermione."

His voice sounded far away, but she screwed her eyes shut in an attempt to focus. _Devoid of feeling_ became her mantra and she chanted it over and over. She wiped slate the clean of her mind, sort of how it was when he… no. She'd better not start thinking about that. Then she'd never be devoid of emotions. Merlin, it was hard not to think! She focused on keeping her mind free of thoughts in general. She pictured a busy chalkboard and proceeded to erase it. His presence still lingered at the recesses, barely noticeable, like a small tickle, but she was in control. This was her mind, after all!

What a joke.

As if to emphasize that, Harry chose that moment to intensify the spell and then she felt the onslaught of his ruthless invasion. Her mind felt like it was splitting as suddenly dozens of memories were pulled to the surface and flicked through carelessly. She worked her brain frenetically to try and put them away again, but he was faster and _so much_ stronger. He fell upon one memory, and lingered. Hermione watched it unfold in her mind's eye with barely suppressed horror.

_She was wearing a pale pink dress, her hair sleeked back in an updo Parvati had generously helped her with. Her fingers were shaking and her nerves were jumpy as she descended the stairs to the common room._

_He was standing there, dressed in one of his expensive suits and looking devastatingly handsome. Out of nowhere, the urge to run assaulted her, but she planted her feet and forced her face to appear serene even if she was shaking with fear. He was surrounded by his friends, and they all looked so glamorous. What on earth had made him want to ask her out over one of them?_

_When he looked up, she became trapped in his piercing green gaze._

" _Granger cleans up, nicely," Malfoy said silkily, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "For a Mudblood."_

_Harry said nothing, but just stood watching her. Hermione really did want to run then, but what could she do? Her pride wouldn't let her turn away, and she was used to Malfoy's derogatory remarks. Carefully, she stepped down the stairs and didn't dare take her eyes off her shoes until she reached the bottom step. Parkinson, Greengrass, and Ginevra looked at her with a gleeful sheen shining in their eyes, but her eyes were all for Harry. What did he think of her? That was all that really mattered._

" _Granger." His lips pulled into a wry smile and he reached out his arm for her. "I'm so glad you're my date tonight." His voice was so unbearably attractive she thought she may break, but when she reached for his arm, he pulled away from her at the last second and she went stumbling to the floor, catching herself with her hands, she winced at the impact._

" _Really, Granger?" She looked up to see him towering over her, cold scorn burning in his eyes. "Like I would ever take you anywhere with me."_

_His friends erupted in laughter but she just stared, her eyes shining with unshed tears, frozen with surprise. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he didn't want to take her. She hauled herself to her feet and made a break for the stairs, but not before Brown threw a stinging hex at her. She clutched her arm and kept running, dodging wayward spells, their laughter echoing in her ears and his image burned in her mind. She didn't stop until she reached her bed and flung herself over the mattress. The tears flowed freely—_

"Enough!" She screamed, grabbing her head between her hands. She doubled over and crouched her legs. When she looked up, betrayal smoldered in her eyes. "Why would you do that, Harry? Why would you look for that one? As if I ever wanted to relive it?"

Suddenly she wasn't the smart, confident witch she'd become over the last month. She was the flighty, frightened girl she'd always been once more. Had she even changed in the first place? Maybe she had only convinced herself she'd become someone else—someone better.

Harry's eyes were wide with surprise and barely suppressed rage. "If I ever see him, I'll kill him," he muttered under his breath.

"Who?"

He shook his head. "Nevermind, sorry."

"I don't understand. Why is that the memory you stopped on?"

He swallowed. "Because…" he faltered. "I couldn't remember."

She searched his eyes but couldn't find the deceit she expected to see. "What were you - messed up on potions or something?" _Couldn't remember?_ How convenient! Though she'd almost forgot herself...

"You did look pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful. Only an idiot would think otherwise."

"You don't make any sense." She straightened, her head ached. "You do know you're calling yourself an idiot?"

"Everything will make sense once you learn Occlumency. I can explain it all better then."

She narrowed her eyes at him, pressing her lips in a thin line.

"Look, you didn't do half bad. I can see you really have some potential for this, like with resisting the _Imperius_. I think we should keep practicing. Now you know what it feels like."

She nodded. "Plus I think I'm well and truly devoid of feeling now."

He glanced away, his expression pained. "I can't express how sorry I am."

She believed him for some reason. She wasn't sure how one month could turn everything upside down, but it somehow had. Whatever his reasons, he really was sorry, and he'd made it up to her and _then some_. What was more, he seemed really affected by it, as if he actually _had_ forgotten. He was almost more affected than she was and that made it easier to shrug off the intrusion.

"Whatever, Harry, let's just try again."

She grit her teeth and watched him train his wand on her again. Merlin, this was no way to spend an anniversary. It had an adverse effect, really. Her ideas would have been so much better, but his odd rules got in the way once again. He was definitely earning a Troll in the anniversary department.

" _Legilimens_."

This time, she was better prepared, but she thought she'd try another technique. She recalled watching a boring Quidditch game and brought that to the forefront of her mind. She felt him lightly try to shove it aside, but she held onto it stubbornly, finding it much easier to focus on something than to simply go blank.

"Interesting," she heard him say distantly, "maybe, it's easier for you to learn the second way. Now if you have another memory prepared when I flick that one away, you'll be successfully doing it."

He did as he warned and shoved the memory away as if her willpower were nothing. If she had the luxury to feel offended, she would pout that she thought she was actually stalling him. She called forth a study session at the library and allowed it to slip to the front of her brain. Meanwhile, she searched her mind for others. And so it went like that, over and over, with Harry getting faster and faster about shuffling through the memories. He was right and it was much easier to go about it this way than it was to not think. Hermione Granger never stopped thinking. The faster he went, the less and less time she had to pull new memories.

Finally, she was beginning to feel exasperated. Irritated by his ability to seemingly be wonderful at everything, a plan quickly formed in her mind. The next time he flicked aside her memory, she had quite the intense one waiting for him in its place. A gleeful smile tugged at her lips as she felt him falter and pause to watch the memory unfold in her mind. Hermione was sure to show him every emotion she felt every time the memory of him touched or kissed or licked her. He didn't shuffle this one away near as quickly as he had the ones prior and she felt triumph mingled with sweet vengeance flare in her chest.

Her memory's version of herself writhed on a whimper, and distantly she heard labored breathing.

All too quickly, his presence vanished from her mind.

She stumbled from the sudden shift as she came back to her surroundings, then stumbled again as a hard body crashed into hers. His lips pressed against hers hard and demanding and she barely had the sentience to twine her arms around his neck so she might at least keep her balance.

"Hermione," he broke away, panting harshly, "what _the fuck_?"

She shrugged. "That's what you get—" But he was kissing her again as if his life depended on it, his lips seeking hers with a violence that shocked her and rocked her to her core. Delicious heat poured through her body and she was starting to forget about her plans for vengeance. His kiss wiped away any uncertainty she had. He meant to brand her, and she allowed it. He nibbled on her bottom lip punishingly, and if his teeth tore too roughly, she wouldn't complain.

Maybe occlumency lessons were not so bad, after all. No, Hermione decided she would enjoy them very much.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	15. Power Lapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: December has been a killer so far! Work has been grueling. I legit worked sixty hours this week. (No lie - I'm not sure how I got saddled with so many hours - I'm the scheduler for peete's sake! - but it happened.) Specifically I worked just shy of 20 last night and I'm damn near a walking zombie. I've had this chapter ready, but have had no time to post it. I hope you understand! I sit here and fantasize about staying home and reading/writing because that's what I love to do most but anyways... I do hope everyone has been enjoying the holidays! I'm for sure ready for the New Year... and possibly another vacation. Much love and happy reading y'all!**
> 
> **Before I forget... mild non con warning in this chapter from a secondary character to a main. But you already know this story has a tendency to veer dark so... stick with me if you want.**
> 
> **Also... Cat Dionisio made the most awesome cover art for this story. If you want to see it you can find it on my Pinterest~arielriddlefanfiction along with every other art/cover/aesthetic for this story. Love you, Cat!**
> 
> **Thank you to LeanaM for being the Dre to my Em and just generally being the best beta a girl could ask for C: ******

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**~oOo*oOo~**

Though the weather was frigid, the greenhouse was sweltering.

Hermione had mistakenly thought she'd need a Warming Charm after first deciding to come outside, but the greenhouse was hot as a summer's day and she actually felt overdressed. She had half a mind to loosen her tie and roll up her sleeves. Pansy and Lavender had already kicked off their robes and rolled up their shirts, lying down on their discarded robes.

"It's winter and you look like you're about to go sunbathing." Hermione shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "We're supposed to be working on our project." She clutched the large notepad to her stomach and scanned her eyes over the curling vines spread out before her.

"We'll let you do that part," Lavender told her. "I'm not very artistically inclined."

Pansy rolled over and threw a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun bearing down on them through the glass. "Neither am I. I'll do the research part."

Hermione snorted. "That part's already done."

"Pity."

Hermione shook her head and scratched away with her quill. She wasn't exactly angry with the girls. She'd rather do the work herself than entrust it to someone else anyway. Truth be told, she was just happy to be sitting with them free from any tension. Her interactions with them lately had been amicable, if not borderline friendly. She would certainly take that over what her life had been like before.

"I predicted it would be warm today, you know." Lavender loosened the top two buttons of her top and laid back down.

"Oh shut up, Lav. You aren't a Seer." Pansy chuckled as if the idea was preposterous.

"How do you know?" Lavender looked affronted. "You aren't in Divination with us, but Hermione can tell you, Professor Trelawney thinks I'm an inspiration."

"It's true." Hermione nodded, grinning at her fellow Gryffindor. "She's a natural and can always seem to find every symbol in our tea dregs. I haven't got a knack for it."

Pansy scoffed. "That's not surprising. What is surprising is that this dolt is good at anything _scholarly_."

"She's the top of our class," Hermione gestured to Lavender, "even above Padma Patil, if you can believe it."

"I bet that has our Head Girl's knickers in a right twist." Pansy laughed and the sound reminded Hermione of the girl that used to tease her mercilessly. "Keep up the good work, Lav."

As the sun shining through the top of the greenhouse continued to beat down on them, Hermione decided she was wearing far too many layers. She took off her robes, then peeled off her lightweight sweater. She rolled her jeans up to her shins and felt instantly cooler.

"Going for a swim?" Pansy shaded her eyes and looked up at her.

"Tempted to," Hermione joked, though even the thought of dipping her feet in the Black Lake at this time of year made her shiver despite the heat.

The girl's talk progressed from boys to events they'd be attending over Christmas break, and Hermione tuned them out. She had her own concerns about the Christmas break. Harry had invited her to Grimmauld Place - Sirius Black's notorious bachelor pad - and she had said yes. She considered briefly writing to her mother to tell her she wouldn't be at the castle, but her mum only sent her one or two letters during break. She could surely catch up when she returned without her mum thinking much about it.

The more pressing matter was what to expect during her trip with Harry. She'd never stayed at a wizarding home before. Would she humiliate herself? Would Harry be expected to attend some of these functions Pansy and Lavender were droning on and on about? If so, perhaps she _should_ be paying attention. There was the matter, _again_ , of what she could possibly wear. She had about fifty Galleons left from her winnings, but she hated to waste them on clothes, of all things. Maybe she could get something suitable _and cheap._

What she was more interested in, was how best to get Harry to lighten up. Maybe he wouldn't be so tense at the home he'd grown up in. Maybe she could get him to put his _Until-You-Learn-Occlumency_ rule on the shelf just for the holidays. In her fantasies, she always managed that rather well. Now to only see that dream realized. Of course, she could always keep practicing Occlumency as she had been even when they weren't training. There was no doubt she was getting better at it, but it sadly didn't come easy to her as other subjects often did. The only issue as far as she could see was—Harry was far too good.

The quicker her defenses became, the faster he was. Hermione feared Harry would never find her skill good enough to divulge whatever it was he felt wasn't safe to tell her untrained mind.

_Safe._

Like so often before, her mind wandered over what exactly it was Harry was hiding. She'd already concocted some solid possibilities of her own of which she'd divulged to him, but it didn't seem any one of those were correct. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. He acted strangely about whatever it was he was hiding. That was enough to put her on edge about it too. She'd much rather he just come out and tell her instead of making her wonder about it for days. She had to ask herself—was there anything he could tell her that _would_ ruin what they had between them? So long as he was dedicated to her, she didn't see how there could be.

More likely than not, Harry was being dramatic over something he found troublesome, but she doubted it would bother her very much. He did have the tendency to overthink things. Whatever the issue was, the way she reacted to the news was of the utmost importance. He would see how dedicated she was to him based on her reaction. There was nothing that could tear the two of them apart and she was determined for him to see that.

She lightly fanned her sketchbook in the air, creating a light breeze in the stifling heat. Her eyes scanned the plants, locating a better position outside the greenhouse where the plant she sketched grew wild. She rose to her feet, clutching her parchment to her chest.

"Where are you going?" Pansy's eyes narrowed at Hermione.

Hermione bit back a snort, wondering why Pansy seemed to think she was Hermione's keeper all of a sudden. "Just outside and around the corner." She gestured to the spot she had found. "There's more venomous tentacle plant growing around the side. You don't have to come with me."

"All right," Pansy placated, settling back down. "Just call if you need us."

Hermione nodded and left the girls. She left the greenhouse and immediately pulled down the sleeves of her shirt and cuffs of her jeans when the cold air hit her, but decided against returning for her robes. She was almost finished and wouldn't be outside for long. Pressing her back against a tree facing the shrubs, she sat down and withdrew her parchment once again.

The feeling of unease failed to dissipate as she thought again about her upcoming trip to Grimmauld. Her nerves were riled at the prospect of spending the holidays with her _boyfriend._ Of all the impossibilities, she surely would have never imagined she would be joining him on Christmas break. She worried over how his godfather would treat her. Would he be kind and welcoming, or downright disdainful? Lord Black had never spared her a glance before. The wizard was a notorious ladies' man, and Hermione saw the way girls like Pansy and Lavender giggled and blushed when he gave them a wink. The man appeared to be easygoing, but she had no way of knowing how he would react to her.

She thought about the balls and parties and various soirées the girls had mentioned. Perhaps Parvati wouldn't mind going to Hogsmeade with her to find a few dresses before break. It was important that she make a good impression on Harry's family. She wondered how many Galleons she'd need to sacrifice in order to get something suitable. Parvati would likely suggest Hermione should buy matching shoes and jewelry to complement any new piece, but the thought of spending her money frivolously just seemed like an abhorrent waste.

She sat on the cold ground sketching for some time before a tall shadow fell over her. Pressing her eyes closed, she grinned. She was always happy to see Harry. Turning to greet him, her mouth parted in shock when she saw it wasn't Harry who'd come up to her.

"Weasley?"

Her lip curled of its own volition as she faced the wizard. He hardly looked the immaculately put together, typically polished Pureblood he usually was. His hair wasn't neatly in place and his uniform was haphazardly thrown on. What she found more ominous however, was the look of pure malice in his steely gaze. She reared back against the tree, the nervous fluttering in her belly evolving to all out dread.

"Weasley, what are you—."

He cut her off and brandished his wand. " _Silencio_!"

Hermione was alarmed to find she could make no sound whatsoever. Stumbling to her feet, she dropped her sketchwork and made to dodge around him, but he was far quicker. His fingers curled around her elbow and tightened like a vice, causing her to wince at his painful grip. He hauled her back against the tree none too gently and held her there.

 _What are you doing_ , she mouthed, her eyes wide with fear.

"Granger, Granger," he crooned, a sadistic gleam in her eye, "it's time we had a little chat, yes?"

The adrenaline rushing at her temples caused her to swoon, but that still didn't stop the snide voice in her head from wanting to tell him she could hardly _chat_ now that he'd silenced her.

As if he could read her thoughts, which she knew he _could not_ since she was becoming quite skilled at noticing invasions on her mind, he expanded on his previous statement. "Well, that is to say the chat will be a bit one-sided." He flashed her a smile that looked anything but comforting. "You've been a naughty girl, haven't you?"

Hermione could only stare blankly at him, wishing desperately that he would say whatever it was he needed to say and leave her be. There was nothing he could say that could hurt her at this point, but she was sure he would give it the old sporting try.

"You know you were supposed to be _mine._ Always. I know you've known that." Weasley frowned as if he truly believed the preposterous notion. " _He'd_ never even looked at you before, you were always so beneath him, and now the two of you are playing like you're head over heels for each other… and it's _unnatural_."

Gritting her teeth, she tried to cross her arms over her chest but he didn't relinquish his grasp even a little.

"I don't expect for him to keep you—he'll tire eventually. Merlin, he always loses interest quickly in his playthings. But still, don't think I won't remember this slight. Don't think I won't remember you threw your lot with him _first_ , as if he could offer you more than I can. When you need his protection, he'll leave you high and dry, but I might have helped you. My father is an important man. My brothers all work for the Ministry in some way or another. I have connections, and you were wrong to dismiss me like you did!"

Hermione gave a silent snort. The man was completely mental. She'd never asked Harry for _protection,_ as Weasley liked to call it, in the first place. She wanted to tell him that such a thing was hardly what motivated her when seeking a relationship but Weasley's spell had effectively thrown a wrench in that plan.

"Do you find joy in spurning me, in playing two people who were friends against each other?" he inquired, his eyes dark with the promise of retribution. "Maybe you think it's amusing, a uppity Mudblood like you causing a feud between two Purebloods. I hate to give you the satisfaction… to play into your little plan… but I wanted you first!" His voice was downright whiny. "It isn't fair for him to steal you, just to spite me, most likely. I won't just roll over and bow to _Lord Potter_."

Having enough, Hermione made to push him away and disentangle herself from his grip but he only slammed her harder against the tree, causing her head to hit the bark with a hard thwack. His other hand came to cup her jaw fiercely and force her head back to look at him.

"It's a slight I won't be forgetting. There is only one place for Mudbloods, and it's time you were reminded."

His head dipped lower and then Hermione became truly fearful as his ominous words hit home and his intentions became clear. He meant to kiss her! And kiss her he did. His lips connected with hers brutally hard. Acting on instinct, the palm of her free hand collided with his face with a sickening thud, forcing him to reel back and break the kiss.

The shocked expression on his face was almost comical, but then it gave way to rage and his eyes burned with fury. Hermione thought about the wand she'd left carelessly back in the robes she'd discarded. Pansy and Lavender were so close! Just through the entrance of the greenhouse. If she had her voice, she could call for them. Would they help her, or would they let Weasley have his way? Surely, Lavender wouldn't stand idly by even if Pansy might.

"Mudblood," he hissed, pinning both hands above her head with one of his, and gripping her hip with his other so hard it would surely leave a bruise. He pressed the hard ridge of his arousal against her stomach and her fear escalated to pure terror. If only she knew at least one wandless spell, like Harry did! "That was a bad decision on your part."

Hermione could do nothing but thrash against him, whipping her head from side to side. But he always found her, his lips chasing hers. His tongue pressed insistently against the seam of her mouth but she clenched her teeth, feeling suddenly nauseous. He seemed to enjoy her fighting, and when his fingers dug deeply into her hip she couldn't help but gasp, unwillingly granting him the access he needed. He thrusted his tongue in her mouth. She was outraged at the intrusion and did the only thing she could think of. She bit him as hard as she could, feeling satisfaction when she tasted blood.

He broke away and howled in pain so loud she hoped someone would hear them. She didn't have the luxury to celebrate his pain for long. His hand came down across her face with a hard slap that rang in her ears, causing her brain to buzz.

"You'll regret that," he hissed. "Do you fight him as hard as you fight me? Just admit that you want to be used like the Mudblood slut you are." His face was pinched and red, his mouth bleeding, but the manic look in his eyes stifled any feeling of triumph she could feel.

He descended upon her again, this time sucking her neck and clutching at the mounds of her chest over her shirt. Hermione felt tears leak from her eyes at her overwhelming helplessness. Weasley showed no signs of stopping. He would take from her what she was saving for Harry! The notion made her heart seize with anger. The urge to fight took over and she struggled against him with renewed vigor.

She could sense the approach of powerful magic and wondered if it was her own, stirring vigorously and just waiting to be called upon. Her magic was riled and completely enraged by her treatment, if only she could summon it to her fingertips. She let her magic loose and took some comfort in its angry state. It brushed against _more power_ and became heightened. Within seconds she could feel it just tingling at her fingertips. She angled her fingers just so and let her magic sizzle furiously through hands and into his, willing nothing more but for him to feel _pain._

He wrenched away as if burned and she used his surprise to push him hard in the chest, but it was as good as shoving a hippogriff. He recovered far too quickly and advanced on her yet a third time.

Right before he reached her, his knees buckled and his face contorted in pain. He crumbled to the ground and fell face forward, his fingers threading through dirt as if he was searching for something to hold on to. Hermione dashed around him and used the sleeve of her jumper to swipe the taste of him from her mouth. She was so disgusted, she could hardly focus.

Glancing up, she saw Harry had crested the hill and was standing, training his wand at Weasley, his magic pulsating with the strength of his fury. Behind him, a small crowd had followed at his heels. Hermione saw Lavender looking at the scene with revulsion. Pansy and Malfoy stood beside her, the Slytherin wizard gripping his wand as if he meant to help. Hermione vaguely registered her own surprise that the group who had formerly tormented her now meant to help her, even against one of their own.

Her eyes found Harry once more, and her own rage began to melt away at the sight of the furious wizard. If she had thought she was angry, her anger paled in comparison to what she saw on Harry's face and sensed in his dark magic. She'd never seen him so riled before as he was now, exacting his vengeance on Weasley. She could feel the strong wave of his magic as it ripped through the area like a hurricane. It was so wild, Hermione could only stare spellbound, closing her eyes in bliss as she let his magic engulf her, simultaneously grazing her own she had yet to pull back. It was heady and intoxicating, and she almost forgot what she'd just endured in favor of relishing in the rush his magic provided. She wondered if the others could feel it too.

Weasley was writhing, and he'd somehow managed to roll to his back, but Hermione didn't spare him a thought. He made her feel dirty and the need to perform a _Scourgify_ on herself was overwhelming. There was so much magic around her, it was easy to pull from it and will a spell of her own to eradicate the taste of him from her mouth.

In the midst of enjoying the outpour of powerful magic, she wondered, with a hint of trepidation, if Harry would be angry at her for allowing herself to be caught by the ginger-haired wizard. She always seemed to be the one in need of saving, and maybe he found that bothersome after so many times. Maybe he would question her loyalty at allowing herself to be overtaken. The idea of being on the receiving end of Harry's menacing power equal parts scared and excited her.

But then his power _always_ excited her.

It was like nothing else she'd ever felt, and the feeling she got from touching her magic with his was euphoric—a magical high nothing came close to comparing to.

"You can't hold him under the _Cruciatus_ for that long," Malfoy's voice pierced through the haze. "You'll kill him."

"Maybe that won't be a bad thing." Harry's voice was deathly calm, a stark contrast to the fury that smoldered in his gaze.

She could see now that Harry had lost control. He'd given into his bloodlust and he seemed to have no intention of stopping. The impressive display of power made her feel heady with desire. Her magic sought out his desperately, thankful for his protection as she was herself, but he didn't seem to notice the shocking connection as he always had before. Hermione realized he was feeling his own rush, wielding an _Unforgivable_ and likely feeling the addicting pull to its own dark power. He would surely cause Weasley to go mad if he continued! She had to stop him.

She stepped tentatively closer, her eyes fluttering shut as the energy intensified. Heart thundering in her chest, a thrill coursed through her and she stilled. His magic bristled over her skin in a powerful rage, and she knew of only one way to calm him.

"Harry," she said softly, but he didn't appear to hear her.

"Granger," Malfoy warned, "I wouldn't get any closer if I were you."

Hermione ignored him and took the final step. She reached out her hand to tentatively stroke the wrist clenching his wand. "Harry," she tried again, her eyes hooded from the effect of his power. "It's all right now. You can let go."

At the feel of her skin against his, his eyes popped open and found hers. Hermione was struck by how dilated his pupils were. She could only make out a sliver of green, otherwise his eyes were black. He looked very much like a predator.

"Hermione?" His voice was gravelly.

Feeling bolder, she put pressure on his wrist and pushed on it. "Let go. It's over now."

She was aware the moment Harry sensed her own magic as it continued to seek out his. His eyelashes fluttered and his jaw went slack. In her periphery she saw Weasley go limp and Malfoy start firing off instructions, but her focus was solely on Harry. Her fingers curled around his wrist more confidently and tightened.

Slowly, he lowered his wand and allowed Hermione to pull him away.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry couldn't remember how or when he had ended up in the Room of Requirement, but Hermione was straddling his lap and peppering his throat with kisses.

"It's okay," she consoled him. "You did good… so good."

He was somehow hard as a rock, his erection standing up to attention and seeking friction as if his life depended on it.

She lightly cupped his face as if he were somehow fragile, and began kissing a line up his jaw.

He wracked his brain, attempting to figure out what had happened and why he felt so _off._ His magic surrounded him, but so did _hers,_ and he wasn't sure where his ended and hers began. His magic was like an angry beast lulled to a content, purring state by the enchantress in his arms. Mind throbbing, he felt a tendril of anxiety flare up in his chest at what calling on so much magic must mean. It meant he had lost control, and though he'd regained some sentience over his thoughts, he certainly hadn't regained any _control_.

The sharp instincts of a dueler waiting for action lay just barely under his skin. In a second he could be ready to fight again if he needed to, but there appeared to be no imminent threat, not here in _their room._

"Fuck," he mumbled, resting his hands around her waist. "Fuck." He was compelled to pull her closer, but he could never get close enough until he united with her once and for all. The need for the girl in his arms caused his mind to buzz, a lustful haze clogging his thoughts. He felt high from the lingering presence of his power - sated for now - but for how long until it demanded more?

The image of Weasley thrashing under Harry's _Cruciatus_ curse streaked across his brain and his magic gave a little growl at the memory.

"I… _left him_. I let him get away with it," he said with sudden realization. "They're probably taking him to Madam Pomfrey's right now, letting her _heal_ that pathetic excuse for a wizard!"

Anger crept to the surface.

"No," she shushed him with a kiss, stroking her fingers through his hair before breaking away again. "You did the right thing."

"I backed away," he told her with conviction now. "I failed you. I let him touch you."

She shook her head, honey brown eyes hooded with desire seeking his. "Backing away doesn't mean you aren't strong. Sometimes it's the hardest thing to do and takes the most courage. You did the right thing. And you can't be with me every second of the day."

He exhaled a huge breath from his nostrils, trying to regulate his breathing. It was incredibly hard to think. "I can. I will."

"I doubt it'll happen again. I doubt anyone will come after you or anyone you care about. At least at this school."

Harry's eyes fluttered shut as her lips fell to his neck, her soft curls tickling his chin. "Hermione," he breathed. His brain was dizzy from being so painfully hard. It was exactly the sort of situation he usually forced himself _to avoid_. Being around her after he let loose his power… letting her connect his magic with hers… it was a recipe for disaster! "I'm not a good man." The confession was the most effort he could put into dissuading her. It was all he cared to do. Really, he wanted the girl straddling his lap more than he'd ever wanted anyone or anything.

She chuckled. "Of course you are, Harry. The best man I know." She anchored her arms around his neck, bringing her chest flat against his. "So kind… and thoughtful." She nuzzled the skin between his jaw and his ear.

"To you," he told her honestly. He could feel the heat coming from between her legs. His hips ached to snap up against her, just for a moment, just for a taste of that heavenly friction he knew awaited him. "Hermione," he murmured, his voice thick with need.

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I want to do something for you." Her lips pressed together in a nervous line and her chest heaved with excitement. "Will you let me?"

Unable to rein in his lust, unable to deny her _anything,_ he gave her a dazed nod.

She smiled brilliantly at him before sliding down his chest.

Harry startled, sitting up straight against the couch. "What are you—?"

She shushed him before settling on the ground between his legs on her knees. Her hands trailed up his cloth-covered legs and rested on his thighs. He felt his abdomen clench from the feel of her touch so close to where he wanted her to touch him most. She gave him a reassuring smile before dropping her gaze to the clear tent in his trousers and biting her lip.

"Oh, fuck." He threw his head back as his heart beat wildly in his chest. His breath came in rough pants. "You're not going to… to—."

"It's okay," she cooed, and he marveled at how confident she appeared to be, as if their roles had shifted completely and she was the experienced one.

How many times had he fantasized about this same scenario? How long had he imagined what it would feel like to have her mouth on him? It was a fantasy he hoped would play out eventually, but he never imagined it would happen so soon. He should be stopping her, but he hardly had the willpower. Hermione nestled between his thighs was the most arousing sight he could hope to conjure. He felt himself twitch as she continued watching him.

Her eyes had an earnest gleam to them as she leaned forward to unzip his trousers and reached in to take hold of his length. He jerked in surprise, a low groan wrenching itself from his throat. Her breath hitched, taken off guard by his reaction, but resolve burned in her eyes and her fingers tightened around him.

"Have you—," he grit out, unsure, but she interrupted him. His nerves were dancing wildly with a magnetic fervency that overwhelmed him.

"No, but the girls talk." She held him in her hand as she had once before, but this time he felt her curious gaze roving over the length of his shaft. "You'll have to tell me what you like." She swallowed, a hint of doubt flashing over her face, but the desire that seemed to have overtaken them both infused her with courage.

He gave her a jerky nod. "You couldn't possibly do anything wrong," he rasped, the words sort of running together. He was rapidly losing it and couldn't believe this was actually happening. The reasons for stopping her had fled his brain.

He felt the softness of her lips brush against the tip and he jerked. Her hand tightened and then he felt himself sliding into the wet warmth of her mouth. It was too much - the tightness and the heat - the exquisite sensation of her tongue lapping against him. One of her hands stayed at the base of his cock as she took him further into her mouth causing him to groan, low and guttural. His eyes screwed shut as pleasure spiked through him. Encouraged by his reaction, she pulled almost all the way back and used her tongue on his most sensitive part before taking him back even deeper than before.

" _Fuck_ ," he panted, his hips itching to thrust and his fingers wanting desperately to touch her hair. He tried to rein in his growing lust as she added suction to her actions. He didn't know how long he could last—he was so aroused he was on the verge of passing out.

Wrenching his eyes open, his gaze dropped to her pretty mouth. The sight of her on her knees before him was so erotic he felt himself harden further. No longer able to resist feeling her luxuriant curls between his fingertips, he unfisted his right hand from the cushion and rested it on her head. He forced his left hand to relax and give into the wonderful sensations she was making him feel. Her eyes glittered as she watched him, not stopping to utter a word, but communicating the depth of her desire with her gaze alone. The hand she had kept at his base strayed as she took him in further, brushing lightly against his shaft. He groaned loudly, lost in sensation.

"Yes, love, just like that," he purred. "Oh, fuck… don't stop… so good." His right hand got braver, and she moaned as he controlled the movement of her head, the sound causing vibrations to run down his length. He murmured encouraging endearments, mindless of what he was saying, focused solely on the feeling of her tongue caressing him and the tight pressure of her mouth. His words seemed to spur her on more, and there was a new eagerness to her approach as she worked him faster. He felt himself starting to come undone. "Hermione, I'm so close…" She hummed and sucked harder and his body shivered from the intense pleasure she was giving him.

The volume of his desire built into a crescendo of yearning. His need was so sharp he felt blinded and could focus on nothing but the decadent feel of her mouth. In that second, he wished for nothing more than to be locked with her - united - in the most intimate way possible, to feel himself moving within her. Honey colored eyes snapped back up to meet green and then he was done for. With his last conscious thought, he tried to break away, hissing a warning, but she gripped him tighter and increased the suction as she took him deeper than she had before.

Lost in the incredible feel of her warmth, he threw his head back in surrender as his roaring climax crashed over him. His body shook and he couldn't help thrusting his hips as he came, his fingers tightened around her curls as he spilled himself into her mouth. The knowledge that it was Hermione that was doing this to him intensified his pleasure even more. For so long he'd pined over what he had lost, and it made it all the more surreal that she was really here. She could never know how deeply he cherished her or the depth of his feelings.

He rested his head back against the cushion as he attempted to calm his breathing. For the first time since he'd happened upon Hermione being assaulted by that slimy weasel, he found his thoughts starting to clear. She hauled herself from the floor and sat down beside him to nestle her head under his shoulder. He absently zipped his trousers before reaching his arm around Hermione and stroking her hair.

"You didn't have to do that." His breathing was still uneven and his chest rose and fell in shallow pants. "You're the one that needs to be comforted after…" He glanced away, feeling shame rise in his throat. She'd been through an ordeal and here he'd selfishly disregarded her needs whilst eagerly seeing to his own.

"Sh." She cupped his jaw and turned his head so he was looking at her. "You're not responsible for Weasley. Besides, you saved me before anything truly awful could happen. I'm thankful you came when you did."

Harry grit his teeth, his awareness creeping back and his magic settling.

"And…" She ducked her head timidly. "I liked what we did." Color stained her cheeks. "I needed that… to be in control, I suppose… instead of having someone exert their control over me." Finding her bravery, she glanced up and pierced him with those eyes so reminiscent of melted caramel. "So you see… it was for both of us."

He tried not to think of what had just transpired between them. His recently sated desire stirred at the memory. He'd been astonished when she'd let him finish in her mouth. He felt like a scoundrel—it was hardly gentlemanly. Surprise and lust had clouded his judgement. "You were… it was…," he faltered. "I hadn't expected that. You learned how to do that just from _talk_ alone?"

She blushed harder. "The Girls' Dorms are filled with such talk. I didn't even think I was paying attention but…"

He smirked, relishing in the feel of her pressed up against his body. "And I'm sure you've read books," he hedged. "Knowing you."

"Books?" She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I certainly don't read _those sort_ of books."

"Well, then," Harry tossed his right hand in the air flippantly, his eyes gleaming with awe. "I suppose you're just a natural. You knew exactly what I liked."

"It's not as if there aren't signs. It's fairly easy to tell when you like something."

He sighed, staring at the crackling fire he'd only just noticed since arriving in the Room of Requirement. "Our dear _Ronald_ is probably getting healed up as we speak. I'm sure I'll have Hell to pay when I show my face to the professors."

Hermione scoffed. "Hardly. People get Crucio'd all the time. It's Weasley who'll be embarrassed."

His eyes flashed with surprise as he mulled over that bit of news. Not punished for using an Unforgivable on a fellow Hogwarts student? It was positively barmy. The differences between this universe and his were astounding.

"I'm sorry," he swallowed around the lump forming in his throat, "for losing my temper. I hope I didn't scare you."

She burrowed her head further into his chest. "More impressed than scared. I love watching you unleash your power. And," she flashed him a cheeky smile, "it means you won't say _no_ to me."

Harry knew he should feel ashamed of his actions, but the blissful after-high he felt after reaching his pleasure prevented the onset of self-loathing. He was lulled into a peaceful state and his rage was sated. He could only hope that such a misstep wouldn't occur when they reached Grimmauld. There was so much for him to be wary of when he arrived. He didn't know how to act or what to expect and the last thing he needed was more very welcome but at the same time unwelcome distractions catching him off guard.

"Are you ready to say goodbye to the castle?" he murmured against her hair.

She nodded eagerly. "I can't wait to spend Christmas with you, Harry."

**~oOo*oOo~**


	16. Connections & Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you guys so much for the feedback on this story! I really appreciate it so much. Also thank you to the wonderful LeanaM who got this chapter nice and polished for me. Much love Xx_

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

A certain edginess pervaded Hermione's senses.

She and Harry had arrived at the infamous Grimmauld Place, and the townhouse looked unassuming enough, but her nerves were in a flutter—dancing about excitedly under her skin. For the first time, a seed of doubt wormed its way into her mind. Had it been reckless on her part to agree to join Harry? They'd only been officially together a month and a half, of which she needed to remind herself regularly—it felt like she and Harry had been together for _ages._ Really, spending time with him was the most natural thing in the world.

There was a light, but steady pressure on her back. She spared Harry a glance to see he'd placed a hand on her back, the corners of his lips pulling up in encouragement. Perhaps he could sense her unease. At least that's what she thought initially, upon a more thorough examination she saw a tightness in his demeanor and a strain in his face. As much as he spoke of his invitation with a flippancy and arrogance that had relaxed her, she began to suspect he was a trifle more concerned about hosting her at his family home than he had initially let on.

"Don't worry," he said lightly. "My godfather isn't all _that_ bad. Witches actually find him rather charming."

 _Pureblood witches, maybe,_ she mused. The likelihood of Lord Black extending her any warmth was far-fetched at best. Surely the man was bound to think she was a suboptimal choice for his godson to be dating.

"Right." Hermione nodded. "Shall we get to it, then?"

Harry exhaled a deep breath and swallowed. "Right."

Resolve burned in his eyes as he strode confidently to the entrance and curled his hand around the doorknob. There was no hesitation as he opened it and quickly ushered them through the entrance. He tensed as if expecting something, his eyes flying to the portrait affixed to the wall directly in front of them in the long hallway, but when Hermione followed his gaze, she only saw a moving portrait of a wizard riding an Abraxan horse.

The tension drained from his face and he exerted more pressure on the small of her back as he prodded her forward. Footsteps echoed over the ebony wood floor. Hermione felt as though a hundred flutterbies were flapping against the cage of her ribs.

"Is that my godson I hear?" A booming voice said, a teasing lilt to his tone before the man it belonged to rounded the corner. "Harry, my boy!"

Lord Black spread his arms and his face broke into a smile.

Harry's hand on her back hesitantly pulled away. "Sirius!" He stepped forward to embrace the wizard Hermione found so menacing.

She wanted to slip into the cracks and slide away, feeling wholly like an unwanted intruder gazing in on a scene meant to be private. She averted her eyes, but not before she noticed the way Lord Black hugged Harry back fondly, as if he truly cared for him, which of course he did. Just because Purebloods acted like they were feelingless to her didn't mean it was a permanent state they all resided in.

"Sirius," Harry pulled away and gestured to Hermione. She straightened under his attention. "This is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger. Hermione, allow me to introduce my godfather and the man who raised me, Sirius Black."

The humorous look left his face and Lord Black schooled his features, forcing them to appear solemn, but the mischievous glint never left his grey eyes. "Delighted to meet you, Miss Granger." He stepped forward and to her utter bewilderment took hold of her wrist and brought his lips to the palm of her hand. "I'm pleased to meet the witch who's managed to so effectively ensnare my godson's heart."

Paralyzed with shock, Hermione forced her head to dip. "How do you do?" The man still held her hand and she straightened awkwardly. "Thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your lovely home." She was fiercely proud to have managed to keep the tremble from her voice.

Lord Black relinquished his grip and she pulled back her hand quickly. He was the picture of polite, but a certain shrewdness passed through his gaze as his eyes appraised her. "I can see why my son is so smitten with you."

She felt her cheeks blush crimson. Why _indeed_? She merely wore a sensible jumper to keep her warm in this weather and a coat over that. She wore jeans and trainers. She'd taken pains to make sure her hair was brushed out so her curls fell becomingly, pinning each side with a bobby pin, but otherwise she knew how painstakingly ordinary she looked.

"And _lovely home?_ Why, you've only seen the entrance. Do allow me to take you on a full tour. After all, you will be here for the next two weeks. My home is your home." A flash of pearly white, straight teeth.

"Will we have any other company?" Harry hazarded carefully, attempting to appear nonchalant but Hermione saw the tension return in his face. She'd become somewhat of an expert on reading him.

Lord Black frowned. "Only us. You didn't think I'd up and married without telling you, now did you?" He jabbed Harry in the shoulder playfully.

"Of course not." Harry smirked. "But what of Aunt Bella?"

"Holed up in that ghastly place her husband calls a manor, but you'll see her soon enough at some society function or another." Lord Black shivered, apparently at the memory of his cousin's home. "Though if you ask me, Lestrange Manor is near as welcoming as a graveyard." He exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Hermione and she struggled to find a suitable reaction. She knew nothing about manors! "Now then, tell me you'll give me the pleasure of showing you my humble abode, hmm?"

Hermione gave a jerky nod. "That's most kind of you, Lord Black."

The enigma of a wizard seemed to grimace at the title. "Lord Black was my father. Please, call me Sirius?"

Surprised all over again, she could only nod stupidly. She'd entertained many outcomes of how meeting Harry's family members might be, but such eloquence and welcome was surely not in any fantasy she had conjured. She followed the wizard with Harry by her side, who she caught looking as curiously around as she was at his home. He probably missed being there after so many months in the castle. The place was bathed in hues of black, slate, and red, decorated tastefully and far from the garish interior she had imagined. Even so, it screamed _a Bachelor Pad._ Hermione took everything in hungrily, entranced by seeing her very first wizarding home. She became swept up in Sirius Black's most welcoming tour. Like Harry had proclaimed earlier, Hermione actually did find him quite charming.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The house was the same, though glaringly different.

It wasn't the dark and sad place he'd remembered, but rather it was quite warm and welcoming. It wouldn't surprise Harry is Sirius entertained parties here. It was really in the best shape it had ever been in, even in his world after Ginevra had enlisted the help of decorators and given the place what she'd called a facelift. Still, whoever helped Sirius make the place livable had done a magnificent job, in Harry's opinion. It was much brighter and certainly a lot more cheerful than he remembered.

What Harry found the most surprising was the way Sirius and Hermione had seemed to take to each other.

Sirius hardly treated Hermione in the way Harry had expected him to, but instead seemed to find Harry's girlfriend rather amusing, at least based on the number of times he laughed at her remarks. Even more astonishing was the way Hermione herself had relaxed around the man, a feat that had taken Harry weeks to manage. Sirius accomplished that in several hours. As Kreacher brought forth the second course, a rather delicious celery and potato soup, Harry could only sit back and watch as Hermione sat forward earnestly with Sirius' attention centered directly on her.

"You don't have to keep the posters in your brother's room up," Hermione stressed, rolling her eyes as if the notion vexed her. "Even Permanent Sticking Charms can be removed." She took the delicate stem of her wine glass in hand and took a deep sip.

" _Hermione_ ," the name rolled off his godfather's tongue like a caress and Harry inwardly flinched at the familiarity. "They're called _permanent_ for a reason. The only way to be rid of them is if the house were destroyed altogether."

She shook her head, grinning ruefully. "You merely need the right ward fortified first before you attempt to remove them." She took a spoonful of soup in her mouth and her eyes widened, before she took another. "As long as you employ the correct preemptive spells, removing them won't be at all challenging."

Sirius snorted his disbelief.

Hermione sat back as if considering something, her brows furrowing before she skewered Sirius with her gaze once more. "And you really should consider removing those plaques of those poor house elf heads on the First Floor while you're at it. It's positively barbaric! Your house is so lovely, and then to see _that._ Well, I'm not sure you want to invite the sort of message that brings."

" _Message_?" Sirius inquired, brows as high as his hairline. "I can tell you that no witch or wizard has commented on it before you, that's certain." He drank his wine, emptying it much quicker than Harry and Hermione were emptying theirs. "Besides, it would be a snub to their legacy if I removed them _now._ Not after such loyal years of dedicated service. Don't you see how they might find that offensive?"

She huffed, determining not to look at the man. " _Dedicated service,_ " her voice was oddly reminiscent of a sneer. "Doubtful. More like legally-sanctioned enslavement."

His godfather laughed and the rich sound reverberated through the room. "You are one interesting witch, to be sure." He nudged Harry, who in turn tried his best not to round on the man. "She's quite a bright witch, isn't she? Don't see many of them?"

 _Brightest-Witch-of-Her-Time._ The words of his old professor, Lupin streaked across his mind. This world continued to surprise him. Everything was so topsy-turvy, but then there were moments of rightness.

"I'm sitting right here." Hermione stared them both down with an expression meant to be menacing, but she only looked like a riled kitten.

"I'm sorry, love." Sirius put his hand over his heart in mock regret. He set about attacking the next course Kreacher brought them, before he turned his attention on Harry once again and deftly changed the subject. "You've been of age since July. Have you changed your mind about wanting to see your birthright?"

"My birthright?"

"Potter Manor. It's been locked up for ages, no one's been allowed inside. I would expect you to be eager to finally take ownership?"

"Potter Manor," Harry breathed, his eyes getting faraway and distant. "In Godric's Hollow?"

"Of course."

"I confess—I'm eager to see it." Harry cut his steak and chewed carefully. "No one has been inside, not even Ministry officials?"

"I imagine they searched the place after your father's death, but no. The manor is largely undisturbed."

 _What of my mother's death?_ He wanted to know. But Sirius did not appear interested in discussing the woman Harry only recently found fought on the opposite side of his father.

"I'll go with you to see it." He looked up to see Hermione smiling at him brilliantly. "If you want the company, that is."

"Of course," he assured her.

She preened and happiness radiated through her eyes.

"You kids will be quite busy," Sirius remarked, shoveling peas in his mouth. "What with the Winter Solstice Ball, and the Nott soirée. I imagine you require more Galleons?"

Harry suppressed a grimace. Flippant spending made him nauseous, unless he was spending his Galleons of Hermione, that was. Otherwise, he'd grown up with less than nothing and it was ingrained in him not to be wasteful. "I still have some left from last time. I'll take Hermione shopping."

"Oh, you don't need to do that, Harry. I've already gone with Parvati last weekend and got a few things. We're supposed to meet up with Pansy and Lavender over break and I'll manage fine."

"Nonsense!" Harry and Sirius said at the same time, causing the girl to jump.

Harry went on to explain. "It isn't the Pureblood way," he said softly. "Wizards care for their witches— _always_."

"Oh." Hermione shrank in her chair, embarrassment shading her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, love," Sirius told her warmly. "If my godson hasn't been the utmost gentleman, just tell me and I'll knock him around a bit. All right?"

She frowned, and stared at Sirius blankly. Harry suppressed and eye roll and felt the urge to hex his godfather. The notion that _he_ couldn't take care of Hermione was laughable.

Kreacher brought the dessert course and the trio ate in relative silence. The meal was quite exceptional, but Harry felt on edge, the irritation running rampant in his chest. It was all good and well that Sirius was making Harry's girlfriend feel welcome, but Harry couldn't help but wonder Sirius' true motives in doing so. When they were through, and polite chit-chat had taken place of their meal, Harry decided it was far too late and he should whisk Hermione away at the swiftest opportunity. He didn't fancy the greedy gleam in Sirius' eyes.

Harry turned to face Hermione. "We've had a hard day of traveling. Let me escort you to your rooms?" He had no intention of sleeping himself, in favor of pillaging through the vast books and scrolls that Black Library had to offer instead, but he couldn't rest until she was safely tucked away.

Hermione gave him a shy smile. "Thanks, Harry. I'm quite ready to turn in for the night." Her eyes conveyed she might be persuaded to do a trifle more than simply _turn in,_ but Harry tried his best to ignore that tempting notion in favor of staying on track with his own goals.

He'd long since thought of extending his research to what was available at the Black Library and as far as he was concerned, finding out was of paramount importance.

He skirted his gaze towards Sirius again, who was once more looking at Hermione as if she were something to eat. It unsettled him. It never occurred to him that a decorated Pureblood such as Sirius would look at a Muggle-born as anything more than _filth,_ but then his expectations were constantly proven wrong in this universe. He'd have to watch her closely, even here. She'd managed to captivate his godfather's attention just like she had many of the wizards in school.

Offering his hand, she took it gratefully and he pulled Hermione up from her seat, stepping in front of her in order to block Sirius' view. "Goodnight, Sirius," he said, imbuing his stare with a healthy dose of possession he hoped his godfather would see and take the hint to back off. He couldn't stomach Sirius leering after _his girl._ "Give my compliments to Kreacher."

Hermione peeked around him. "Goodnight, Sirius." She smiled warmly, not seeming to sense the dangerous attention she could unwittingly encourage from the man. "Thanks again for the lovely meal."

Harry felt his lips quirk of their own volition. He guided Hermione from the Dining Room, casting a dark look back at his godfather as he went, but Sirius only winked at him.

**~oOo*oOo~**

_Intersection._

It was the text Hermione had informed him of before—the one by Spalding. And - right as she ever was - it was much more illuminating than _Parallel Energies_ had been.

This text had an entire section devoted to the theory of parallel universes occurring in tandem with _sister universes_ closely connected to one another and ranging in similarities. Harry never would have entertained such an extraordinary theory in his old life. He'd always taken for granted that there was only _one universe_ though how expansive said universe was he'd never given much thought to.

No. Spalding went on to suggest that there were _countless_ universes.

Some, she maintained were so similar, one might think it was the same as another, but there were subtle differences. There were changes sometimes not easily identified. And often times the changes were not so subtle. According to the author, there were many worlds other than his own, and even though the book was only stressing _theory_ and sounded more like a Muggle science fiction plot than anything else _,_ Harry knew from experience that the text was hardly fiction.

He'd dashed through worlds himself, and knew better than anyone that the existence of parallel universes as well as the means to travel between them was quite _real._

 _But what of traveling from one universe to another?_ He ruffled his hair, trying to keep his mind from wandering as he worked his brain frantically. Once more, he couldn't help thinking that the Hermione of his time, perhaps even this time, would have the information sorted by now. He felt a flash of regret that his world's Hermione had so effectively destroyed her research on the subject. What if his world was more knowledgeable on the subject than this one was? How was he ever going to ascertain what happened or the ramifications his presence here had?

Rubbing his eyes, he scanned the text again, this time landing on a line that caught his attention. _If a resident from one universe travels to its neighboring world, the traveler will not be able to exist simultaneously with the new universe's incarnation of themselves. Moreover, the incident would incite a switch forcing the traveler or world-crosser to trade places with the resident. The resident and the world-crosser may never exist in the same time, as such an occurrence would cancel the other out and they would simply cease to exist._

Harry rubbed his temples as he reread the line over again. Something that felt very much like relief curled through his chest, and he realized - he didn't much care _how or why_ \- he only cared that he wouldn't be taken back to his own world. He only cared that he wouldn't be _replaced._ He could study philosophy until he was blue in the face in an attempt to assess how the World Changer had done its magic, but that wasn't important to him. So long as it was permanent—that was all that mattered.

He abandoned the rest of the passage as he sat back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. He thought about the _Harry_ that formerly resided in this body. _So,_ a wry smirk tugged at his lips. _You're stuck there after all, are you?_ Professor Trelawney's words drifted through his mind. _You don't like desk work? I bet you don't much care for Ginny either, not when she's fucking Marcus Flint and she's revolted by you. It's a sorry lot to have, I know, I had it once. But guess what? You deserve it. You had it all, right at your fingertips, and you took advantage of it. I bet it won't take you long to figure out what I'm doing in your place._ His smile widened. _That's what you deserve for hurting her. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to her. I hope you hate yours as much as I did._

"Harry, are you alright?"

He gracefully sat upright and swiveled slowly in his chair to face Sirius. "Hmm?" He made a valiant effort to get a hold of his thoughts. He could only imagine how he had looked initially - half crazed and manic - looking off into space like a total nutter. "I'm fine—just doing some reading for school."

"Reading for school?" Sirius snorted. "Who are you and what have you done with Harry?"

Harry schooled his features as he bore his godfather's teasing. _If you only knew how dead on you were._

His godfather chortled, before dropping down on the oversized chair directly to his left. "I guess you really are taking my advice to heart. Got your sights set on some fancy job, don't you?"

Harry nodded, attempting to read his godfather even as he himself remained inscrutable.

"You know," Sirius leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs, "that's some witch you have there."

Stiffening, Harry watched Sirius carefully.

"I thought the notion ill-advised - falling for a Muggle-born and all - but now I can see the appeal. Maybe it wasn't as moronic as I thought to ask the Dark Lord for permission? You wouldn't want to share her with the rest of them. You know how some of them like to break their toys. They don't appreciate the challenge of seeing to a woman's pleasure like we do."

His fists clenched by his side, but Harry forced his face relaxed. "What are you getting at?"

Sirius jutted out his chin, the picture of confidence. "We've shared women before. Don't you remember last summer? When you came of age? Surely you wouldn't be opposed to it now."

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Suddenly all the paranoia he felt over the last several hours about his godfather's kindness seemed to have been right all along. This was easily the worst-case scenario he could ever imagine. The notion that his godfather - twenty years older than himself, or he supposed fourteen years older if he was being technical - would ask this of him? It was so incredibly fucked up he thought he may retch all over the wallpaper. He doubted Sirius would make such a suggestion if he'd brought someone like Pansy home instead.

"She's…" Harry struggled to form words against the rage convoluting his mind, "she's… _special._ "

"I know. I can see that." It was wrong, so sickly wrong how boyishly troublesome he looked. Sirius was the perfect partner in crime, and Harry's natural inclination was to deny him nothing, a lingering desire from his old life, but now his request was so royally fucked up. "She's special, I get it. I wouldn't force her. Merlin, I'm not a monster. But give me your leave, and I'll win her over. I promise you that."

His fingers itched for his wand at the insinuation Hermione would _willingly_ fall to Sirius' advances. "She isn't like that. She doesn't have… multiple men. I won't share her."

"Godric's balls! You're being even more uppity than James was of Lily."

"You asked him for my mother?"

"Godric, no." Sirius' face twisted in a scowl. "I despised her." He took a moment to smooth the front of his robes. "It was Lucius who asked. If it had been me, James wouldn't have denied me."

Harry's fingers curled around familiar holly wood hidden stealthily in his robes before he could think about it further. "Why would my father, why would _James_ \- your best friend - ever barter my mother? Why would he… loan her out to one of you?"

"Why would he share her? Because she was Muggle-born, of course, what do you think? She was public property until James expressed interest. Then any wizard who wanted her had to go through him, and he was a right sheisty bastard, just like you seem to be. No different, so it would seem."

"James…" he knew he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't _not._ "He didn't love my mother?"

"Love?" Sirius stared at him aghast. "Are you daft? He wanted her and your mother was industrious enough to use James' desire to her advantage. There could never be a future with such a match. Now take your hand off your bloody wand unless you fancy a duel in the library. Perhaps you need me to teach you a lesson? James _surely_ wouldn't fault me. All these silly ideas about love."

Harry reluctantly let go of his wand. "I still don't understand. If my mother meant so little, how come no one throws it in my face that I'm a Half-Blood? I'm half my mother—or did you all somehow forget?"

Sirius adjusted his collar. "Honestly, Harry. At first I think you're doing well and studying, now I'm back to thinking you must be on potions. James _claimed you_. He gave you his name. You're one of us."

"So if he hadn't claimed me… I'd be no better off than a Muggle-born. Say like… Hermione?"

His godfather shifted uncomfortably. "Well… that is to say… you wouldn't have the comfort of a name to back you up. There'd be no protection."

"You wouldn't have raised me, then? I'd have been a different person entirely if my good 'ole dad hadn't decided to step up and bless me with his name? You'd have let them eat me up alive?"

"It didn't happen," Sirius spat. "So what does it matter?"

"It matters." Harry wasn't sure exactly where his anger was coming from but it was raging. "It matters a lot, Sirius. You either care for someone or you don't. Would you have still cared about me?"

"Harry—"

"Answer the question."

"Yes! I would have cared, all right? Fuck. I mean, you're my best chum's son. I'd always have watched over you. It just would have been more difficult. James did right by Lily. He legitimized her son and protected him more than she ever could. Your father cared, all right? Be thankful he did. I don't know what's gotten into you or why you'd question everything after all this time."

"Yes," Harry seethed, his chest heaving, "James did right by my mom because _he loved her._ You're wrong about that. I know you are."

Something awfully close to pity flicked over Sirius' eyes, making Harry all the more upset. "All right. Whatever you say."

"Don't try to placate me!" Fuck, was that water in his eyes? What the actual fuck? He was _not_ getting emotional over this. No fucking way. He wasn't even connected to _these people._ Why were they invading his mind and _infecting_ it.

Sirius stood to his feet. "Harry?"

He eyed his godfather with trepidation. What the fuck was he allowing to happen? He needed to get a bloody grip! He couldn't break down—not in front of Sirius! The man might turn Harry into the Dark Lord he groveled before at a moment's notice. Harry had no one he could be vulnerable in front of. Hermione was the only person he trusted and he certainly couldn't be vulnerable in front of her because she needed him to be strong. His magic swirled wildly, but he long since set down his wand and had no desire to use it. He couldn't attack Sirius, not when the man looked at him with such concern in his eyes. Sirius may have his priorities all mixed up, but there was no doubt he cared about Harry in his own twisted way. The idea of turning his wand on Sirius made him feel ill.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and then he was being pulled into a tight embrace. He couldn't help it - Sirius always had this effect on him - Harry yielded. He allowed himself to hug Sirius back. Harry had always looked to him like a father-figure. His godfather was the closest thing to a father he knew! That hadn't changed… even if he'd traveled through worlds… even if Sirius was a Death Eater. He was still Sirius!

"It's alright, Harry. I know it's hard without your parents. You miss them… you miss them both. You're starting to question things and I see now… that's natural. You're just growing up. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Oddly enough, the wizard's words seemed to have some calming effect on Harry. Remembering himself, he took a deep breath and pulled away, feeling silly for reacting like he had. He needed to remember that no matter what someone told him, he couldn't let his emotions get the best of him. He lucked out with Sirius, but anyone else and his game was _done._ Merlin, he was twenty-four! He'd fought a war. He wasn't allowed to crumble over something that should have been obvious to him in the first place.

"Are you okay?" Sirius grey eyes were full of concern.

He nodded jerkily. "I'm fine. I just… I just don't want to share Hermione, alright?"

Sirius put his hands up in surrender. "You don't have to tell me again. She's all yours, mate."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"For as long as you have use of her."

The odd ache in his chest tugged again, but this time Harry ignored it. Sirius was bad, but he wasn't _all bad._ He'd learned one important thing—his godfather cared for him. And a part of Harry suspected that maybe Sirius cared about him even more than the wizard cared about his duties to the Dark Lord.

**~oOo*oOo~**

It was Christmas.

She knew because there was a large tree in the Dining Room—right where she'd just enjoyed a four-course meal with Sirius and Harry earlier that evening. But it wasn't the same Dining Room she knew - not exactly - this one had old, dilapidated wallpaper curling on the was strung about the perimeter. But that wasn't the weird thing.

No.

The thing that was so odd was the Weasleys were there. Merlin, nearly all of them. Even Lord Weasley whom she'd only ever seen once escape from his demanding job at the Ministry to make family day while his sons Fred and George were still in school. He'd never bothered to make the trip to Hogwarts again for merely Ronald and Ginevra.

That was the other odd thing. Ronald and Ginevra were there—and they were _smiling_. Sipping on rich, purple wine because their mother let them. Not wickedness gleaming in their eyes, but joy and mischief. It looked strange on their faces, but somehow right at the same time. Lord Weasley was wearing a purple hat shaped into a cone on his head, and he appeared to be injured by the marks on his face. Harry was there, standing against the wall and watching with a soft smile on his face. Even though he was smiling, he looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Sirius was there also, but he looked to be about sixty instead of thirty-eight. They were all together, eating and drinking and enjoying each other's time together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Even though the Dining Room looked worse for wear under the decorations, it was somehow _warmer_ than it was without them.

Taking in all the strangeness of the scene, the oddest part of it all was her presence in the room.

And it wasn't as if she were an intruder looking in, but an actual part of the celebration. She was making merry with the Weasleys and with Sirius and with Harry and others she hadn't met before. It was so oddly disconcerting she could do nothing but yank herself from the bizarre dream and sit up gasping as she attempted to regain her breath.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Emerald green eyes filled with concern sought hers in the dim light of a hovering _Lumos._ The palm of his hand caressed her cheek as he scanned her face for any sign of distress.

"I'm fine," her voice came out hoarse and scratchy. "Why are you here?"

"You were screaming. Were you having a nightmare?"

"No." She frowned. Why would she have been screaming? There hadn't been anything scary about her dream. On the contrary, it was actually lovely, if one disregarded the impossibleness of it. "It wasn't a nightmare at all."

"What were you dreaming about?"

"It was just Christmas… Christmas _here._ At Grimmauld Place. It was… actually nice. I shouldn't have been screaming. I'm sorry."

He laughed but the sound was hollow. "You don't have to apologize. Dreams can be weird sometimes."

She didn't know why she left out the part about the Weasleys being in her dream. Perhaps it was because of his unabashed hatred for them—she didn't want to provoke his anger. Still, the strangeness of the dream didn't leave her and its lingering memory had her feeling on edge.

Distantly, she was aware of the fact he was still rubbing her shoulders, and the feeling was so soothing any other time she would probably go to sleep, but the last thing she wanted to do was sleep now. She was wide awake.

"Harry," she called in her most sultry voice. "Won't you hold me?"

He straightened from his crouched position and looked down at her. She had the odd inclination to flinch away. Why did she think she could manipulate him into doing something for her? The man could always see right through her! If only she'd played up the nightmare card a bit more. Then maybe he'd give her what she wanted.

"Hold you?" He eyed her skeptically and she felt immediately ashamed. She averted her gaze.

"Snuggle, at least?" she inquired hopefully.

He stayed still for another moment, just watching her, and the unsettled feeling in the pit of her gut only intensified more. He listed his head, and in that moment, he resembled a creature more than he did a human. A dangerous creature. XXXXX rating.

"Sure, Hermione. If that's what you want me to do."

He laid down by her side but instead of spooning her like she anticipated, he lay facing her, placing one hand over her waist and threading the other over his own head so he could play with her hair.

Harry was in a strange mood, and he surely wasn't saying much. Hermione didn't know how to read him. Of all the moods she'd come to know, this one was the least familiar to her.

Swallowing, she reached for her courage. "I'm awake now. Can we do something? Practice, maybe?"

She remembered how she'd tricked him before. Maybe she could do something like that again? The Second Floor of Grimmauld Place was quiet and she could barely see a sliver of dark blue sneak through the open curtain. It was very early in the morning, perhaps 4am, but Harry had for some reason insisted they go to bed early and sleep had been plentiful.

"You're awake?" He tucked a curl behind her ear.

"Mmhmm." Her eyes narrowed as she once more tried to read the unreadable. "What about you? You don't look like you slept much."

"I stayed up reading a bit."

Her breath hitched. She didn't know how or why the idea of Harry reading could get her going like it did, but it certainly did.

"I got enough sleep."

She wiggled her head against his stroking hand, content to take the snuggling if that was all she was permitted. "Good," she declared. "Then we can _do something._ Another lesson? I'm really learning quite _a lot._ "

He smirked. "Okay. Let's _practice._ Do you have your wand?"

She kept it right under her pillow like he'd long ago suggested she do. Her fingers searched for it and sang in relief as she felt the vine wood. She felt _whole._ "Do you have yours?" she countered.

"I don't need mine."

She huffed. Hubris was the first step to defeat, after all. "So look into my mind, Harry." She didn't know why her demand sounded so inviting.

His smirk widened. "Why don't you look into mine for a change?"

"You want me to perform Legilimency?" The notion was frightening. "I'm not sure I can."

"I know you can." His voice was husky. "It's easier to do than Occlumency. Use it on me this time."

If she were paying more attention, she would have noticed the dangerous power that clung to him, but her magic seemed to be getting used to his. If she were well-versed in reading this side of Harry, she would have long-sensed the challenge in his words. But she wasn't, and so she still thought it was a game _she_ was controlling. "Fine," she relented, before pointing her wand to his head. The corner of her lips quirked as she met Harry's unflinching gaze head on. " _Legilimens_."

_She was staring at a lantern, a despondent look in her eyes, hugging her jean-clad knees and seeking warmth from her plaid shirt. He approached her, extending his hand in invitation and it was only then that she realized music was playing from that silly radio. He wore grey wool, as warmly dressed as she was. She took one hand and then the other as he helped her to her feet. When he reached around her neck, her breath hitched, but he was only removing a necklace she seemed happy to be rid of._

_He grabbed her hands and pulled her out to the largest part of the tent. She eyed him with a hint of doubt, unsure of what he was going to do… unsure of what she wanted him to. Whatever she expected, it wasn't for him to swivel his hips, causing her to move hers in time with his movements. He wanted to dance, and the idea warmed her forlorn heart._

_He twirled her once… twice… three times. She smiled as he pulled her closer, dipping her low as he led her with an air of carefreeness that made her heart soar. It felt right for him to hold her like this. It felt perfect. It was just what she needed, and she lost herself in the joy of it. He rested his chin on her shoulder and she nuzzled hers against his neck. Their dance slowed after a time and she screwed her eyes shut, willing him not to stop. She never felt more comfortable and safe than she did with him. And he never felt so much..._

He wrenched her out of his mind roughly and she clutched her head in distress, gasping for air.

"Harry," she said, her tone chastising. "Is that what you meant about conjuring a fake memory?"

Green eyes cut against hers like shards of crystals, staring unblinking. "Not exactly."

"What lesson was that, anyway? Just to show me how good you are at making up memories?" She narrowed her eyes at him, but he said nothing in his defense. "Well… you got it wrong, just so you know. The details, I mean. You don't wear glasses and we _aren't_ the same height."

His eyes glimmered - actually glimmered - as if he had water in them, before he glanced away.

"And you never showed me how to throw someone out of your mind," she babbled. "That's one technique you kept to yourself."

To her frustration, he stayed silent. Why wouldn't he say something?

"Harry?"

"Kiss me," he demanded, low and rough.

Hermione was floored. Harry _never_ initiated contact, she was the one who always pushed. The role reversal stunned her in the best of ways. Timidly, she purged the scant distance between them. She misjudged the movement and ended up colliding with the corner of his mouth. She corrected the kiss and slanted her lips over his. Any misgivings she had melted away when she felt his mouth move against hers.

She may have initiated it, but he dominated it. His kiss was hard and unrelenting. He demanded all her attention and then some. She'd yet to even taste him and already he was making her head spin. He was almost too much, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Her heart skipped a beat because of him—no one else could do that to her. Her toes curled and her body quivered. When she remembered she was kissing him here in her bed with no one and nothing to get in their way, her desire flared sharply.

He licked the seam of her lips and she moaned as she opened her mouth for him, delighting in the feel of his tongue as his lapped against hers. Silk over silk. He tasted like peppermint tea and something sweet like the expensive cigars she saw him and his godfather smoking. The hand on her hip tightened and his fingernails scratched at her scalp. She pulled herself closer to him, melding her body against his. He was all hard ridges and hot muscle.

Forever. That's how long she could lie there, kissing him, she was sure. There was nothing else in the world she preferred over this, not even _reading._ Entwined with Harry on her bed was the best feeling in the ever. She threw her leg over his hip and pulled herself closer still, determined to get some reaction from him. He was generally so vocal, but he hadn't said much tonight to her disappointment. He only kissed her expertly, as if her pleasure was his sole purpose in life.

After a long while, he broke away, his tongue trailing a teasing line down the skin of her neck. He stopped at the sensitive pulse points he knew so well to suck the blood to the surface. Hermione gasped, her hand finding his silky black hair and holding his head there. Snogging was something they did often, but Harry was always good at restraining his passionate side.

"Hermione," he rasped against her throat. "Do you want me to kiss you lower?"

That's all it took.

One moment, she was purring contentedly in a delightful haze of passionate kissing. The next, she was blinded by white, hot need that had her writhing wildly like a rabid animal. Suddenly, just meeting Harry's gaze alone was like ingesting a potent aphrodisiac designed to make her mad with longing.

She nodded frantically, clenching her thighs together to stifle her desperate craving for him.

"Hmm?" He arched one brow almost playfully, but his green eyes were downright wicked. She could curse herself for not sensing the dangerous shift in him sooner. He was off and he was taking her by complete surprise.

"I-I," she was appalled by the sound of her own stuttering. What happened to the cool, and collected woman that had this under control? "I want you to kiss me l-lower."

"Whatever you want, beautiful."

And then he was sliding down her body.

_Oh gods!_

She wasn't prepared… it had been so long since he'd been intimate with her! The night - or early morning, rather - had taken such a sharp twist, there was no way she could have anticipated this turn of events. Her legs were so twisted, even her ankles were locked together. She couldn't seem to stop moving.

"You'll have to open up for me, love." She felt slight pressure on her thighs before he was spreading her legs, and - oh gods! - what was she wearing? Just an eyelet camisole and shorts, no bra, and pewter colored knickers that by now had dampened to a rather embarrassing state.

She felt his lips against the soft skin of her inner thigh. His fingers hooked inside the waistband of her shorts, catching her knickers in the process and then he was tugging them down her legs and all the way to her feet. A tendril of heat flared hotly between her legs and pleasure spiked up her spine, prompting her to clamp her thighs together.

Harry made a _tsk_ noise and pushed her thighs apart, causing her to moan shamefully wanton. Sweet Morgana, what he must think of her? His hand curled around the arch of her naked foot and hooked it around his neck as he settled between the slopes of her thighs.

The first stroke of his tongue against her slickness sent her arching off of the bed. He was forced to use his free hand to press down on her stomach, the camisole having ridden up to her midriff. The second lick deliberately swirled around the bundle of nerves that rapidly sent her into a tailspin. His tongue stroked her with a fervency that had her writhing against his formidable grip in a desperate need to reach completion. A litany of _Harry Harry Harry_ wrenched from her throat as her hips worked against the grip of his hands.

When his fingers joined his tongue, she could do nothing but surrender to his ministrations. It was too much, and she skyrocketed to the edge of reason before she knew it, her lips pleading for him to go faster. He said nothing, his mouth busy on her lower lips and his tongue making her feel heady—roving madness-inducing circles over her most sensitive flesh.

He lapped at her languorously. "So delicious."

Her hips rolled shamelessly against his tongue, too lost to consider what she was doing. His fingers curled just so, causing her to snap her hips as he brushed against spongy flesh that sent her pulse racing. The hand that supported her thigh squeezed tighter, and the combination of his mouth and fingers had her walls clenching around him. A scream tore through her throat as her climax rocked through her, pitching her forward violently.

He didn't stop when her pleasure hit her, but rather coaxed her through it expertly, prolonging the experience. It took longer than it had before for her to come back to her senses, but a delightful haze settled over her mind. She wasn't sure how the night - or early morning rather - had taken such a sharp turn, but all she wanted was to keep it _going_.

"Harry," she said, still feeling the powerful aftershocks of her orgasm. "I _want you._ Please," the plea sprung from her lips unchecked. "I'm ready."

He withdrew his fingers and she moaned at the loss. Mouth glistening with her arousal, he looked up at her, his eyes reduced to emerald slits. "Don't ask me again," his tone was hard and unwavering, brokering no room for argument. "I'm inclined to beg myself, so _please_ don't ask me again."

 _Beg?_ The word stuck out above everything else he had said. Did he want her just as much as she wanted him? Despite being taken to the precipice of pleasure and flung into the abyss just seconds before, sizzling, hot need returned with a vengeance, engulfing her. "Harry," her tone was steady and sure. "Please make love to me."

He froze and time seemed to stutter for one heart-wrenching second, only starting again when he climbed up her body, his hand straying around her ankle as he curled her leg around his hip. She could feel him then - the thick, hard length of him - nestled between her thighs and covered by the thin material of his pajama bottoms. He flexed his hips and her mouth fell open at the delicious feel of him _there_ so finally. This had always been forbidden between them, and the intensity of the moment overwhelmed her.

Around a growl he grabbed her other leg and pulled it around him. She locked her ankles around his hips with an eagerness that astounded her. She wanted him so badly! It didn't seem possible that she wasn't somehow being teased, but she hoped desperately that she wasn't.

"I wanted to do this slow," Harry gritted out, punctuating his words with a snap of his hips. "To do it differently—." He broke off on a groan.

"I don't care," she told him mindlessly. "I want it now… just like this."

"But—."

"I don't care about your rules. I want this, more than _anything._ "

He stroked her cheek affectionately, his eyes finding hers and holding them prisoner. "How could I ever deny you?"

 _Sweet Circe._ He was really going to give her what she wanted? After all this time it was finally happening? He wasn't going to put up a fight? Triumph seared hotly through her chest, setting her nerves high on tantalizing anticipation.

One moment, his pajama bottoms were there, then the next they were not. She felt hot flesh pressed against her pulsating heat. He was there, at her entrance ready to claim her, and she was eager for it to happen. It _needed_ to. Before the choice was stripped from her. Before someone else could steal her away. Harry was who she chose. She wanted to be _his._ She simply couldn't tolerate anything else getting in their way.

He pressed against her, hissing as the tip of him slid against her folds and slipped against her wetness. He felt so _large_! It struck her in that moment—how would she ever _take_ him? Even a finger felt like she was full to the brink - two were a stretch - but coupled with his tongue she never minded the intrusion. Now the situation seemed to present with inherent difficulties she hadn't anticipated before, but she wouldn't express her doubt, not when she'd only just managed to convince him. By the look in his eyes, it appeared he liked the feel of rubbing against her folds, and she certainly delighted in the sensations that resulted from the action. She was content to do this with him the rest of the night. The spark of desire that had bloomed and ebbed awoke once more, and her hips made small movements of their own volition.

Harry continued to move against her, until he had her delirious and squirming with need. Then and only then did she feel the pressure of his hardness once again. Blinded by desire, she flexed her hips and urged him forward, hissing when she felt him press forward and just begin to stretch her.

"Relax," he rasped. "Let me in, beautiful." He nipped at the spot on her neck, distracting her. "Open for me." Against her instincts, she widened her legs and tried to focus on the feel of his lips on the sensitive skin of her neck. She winced as the wide girth of him pushed inch by inch through her throbbing center. "Fucking, fuck," Harry cursed against her skin. The light from the window was becoming more visible. She could barely make out his face, twisted in agony. Why was he in pain? She was the one being stretched to uncomfortable limits!

"I can't wait any longer… I need to rush you along." Rush her along? What did he mean? But thoughts abandoned her when she felt his fingers at the junction of her thighs, swirling and caressing her. The effect was instantaneous. She stretched her back wildly, and he gained an inch and then another. Soon he surged forward, his mouth open on a loud moan as he drove his length deep inside her. Hermione felt a sharp pain deep inside her abdomen, but it was hardly on the forefront of her mind as an odd buoyancy stirred inside her. Being filled so completely was exquisite perfection, and she found she didn't mind the pain.

"Oh, gods." His body convulsed when her walls shuddered and squeezed him. He grit his teeth. "Hold still." But she could hardly see the reason in that, not when it felt so good to move! He was stretching her quite spectacularly - yes - but it hardly felt like an intrusion now. No. In fact, when she clamped down on him it even felt _good._ If only he would let her move, but his hands on her thighs had fallen to her waist and gripped her tightly, holding her securely in place.

She wrapped her hands around his neck. "Please move," she begged.

He cursed, before rolling them over so she was suddenly straddling him. "You have to do it. I don't think I can stay in control. I'll hurt you."

His hips moved in a seductive, circular motion even as he tried to convince her. She wanted to cry. She didn't know what to do!

Harry's fingers ran up the length of her spine as he bunched the camisole in his hands and pulled it over her head. "It's okay," he crooned. "I'll show you. Just _move._ However it, ah… feels good."

He lifted her slightly and let her fall back down, her eyes widening at the flare of pleasure that assaulted her.

"Yes," he hissed. "That's it, love. Just like that."

Hermione whimpered as she fell into a movement that felt natural to her. Her nails dug into his stomach as she moved over him, encouraged by the low groans steadily leaving his mouth. His eyes fell shut and his thrusts grew sharper. Any lingering twinge of pain she felt was followed shortly by a rush of pleasure. She squeezed on every upwards movement, finding that searing rapture flooded her body whenever she did so. The world shifted as she began to meet his thrusts frantically, feeling her pleasure build to the breaking point.

"Harry," she gasped his name like a supplication.

"Oh, fuck," he sat upright and maneuvered his hands around her back as he guided her movements. "That's it, love… get your pleasure… take it beautiful."

She clawed ribbons over his back as lightning erupted behind her eyes. She rocked against his swiveling hips, taking him in deeper than before. Her walls gripped and clenched him as her pleasure rippled through her like a powerful spell, coaxing him to swiftly reach his own breaking point.

He muttered things that made no sense at all as he lost his rhythm and plunged into her quivering body frantically. "This is the place I want to be forever… with you… this with you… I always thought it was impossible, that I failed you… but you're here… you're here and you can't leave me again." His hips surged one final time and then his face contorted in pleasure. She marveled at how extatic he looked when pitched over the edge. She'd never seen him look so carefree and she was determined to see it again. He held her tightly and she returned his embrace, relishing in the comforting solidness of him.

A few moments later, he collapsed on his back and she remembered he was exhausted, having no doubt lied about getting sleep. She laid down beside him and cradled his head, allowing him to fall asleep on her shoulder. For a while, she'd forgotten everything—even her identity. Her world had zeroed in on him and nothing else seemed to matter much . As her senses slowly crept back to her, she marveled at how she could so effectively forget - even the important things - when she was in his arms.

She stroked his hair, fierce protection welling in her chest as she held the wizard in her arms. As formidable as he was, he _needed her_ and she had resigned herself to the fact that she certainly couldn't be without him.

**~oOo*oOo~**

She never did go back to sleep.

No.

After she was sure Harry was sound asleep, she arose and slipped on her pajamas and her robe. Hermione was far too restless to stay quietly in bed. She put on her slippers and then padded quietly out of the room. There was no question in her mind of where she wanted to go so early in the morning. She was sure a wizard like Sirius would sleep in until late in the morning, so as far as she was concerned, the library was empty and hers for the taking.

She knew exactly where it was after her tour from the day before. She was pleased to see the room appeared to have been used recently. There were scrolls and tomes stacked and opened over one table and a large book left open on the desk. Curious, she walked over to the desk and peered down at the book. It was opened to a spot somewhere near the end. Unable to resist, she held the placemark with her finger and turned the book over to read the title.

 _Intersection._ How curious. It was the book she had recommended to Harry some weeks ago, but they'd long since turned in that assignment he'd claimed he needed it for. Why was he still interested in it now? Was the topic so gripping that he had to do more research even long after the due date? She smiled to herself—that was something she would do.

The memory of his evasiveness at the time roused her curiosity even further and she flipped the book back over to where it had been left open, her eyes scanning the text. There was one passage that stood out among the rest. _If a resident from one universe travels to it's neighboring world, the traveler will not be able to exist simultaneously with the new universe's incarnation of themselves. Moreover, the incident would incite a switch forcing the traveler or world-crosser to trade places with the resident. The resident and the world-crosser may never exist at the same time, as such an occurrence would cancel the other out and they would simply cease from existing._ Hermione frowned, an eerie feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as she read on. _This paradoxical switch is not the only ramification of crossing roles. In addition to the merging of worlds through the link of the traveler, the world-crosser may bring with them a lingering awareness of consciousness belonging to those closest to them. In short, the traveler is not the only one affected by bridging the gap between worlds. Others around him may also experience an awakening ranging from unexplained memories, dreams, or other such strange occurrences._

Hermione dropped the book and sat heavily on the overstuffed leather chair. For some reason, she felt… _numb._

She wasn't sure where the feeling had originated from. Her logical mind told her that such a statement was purely fantastical. There was no realistic reason for the information to have hit her like a bludger to the chest. It was only some author - who died long ago - who had developed this _theory._ It had no bearing on her—obviously! No bearing in reality! But despite her reasoning, she could not deny the hastening beat of her heart, or the sudden racing of her pulse.

It was hardly _rational,_ but there were _signs._ Signs that pointed to a truth Hermione _did not_ want to see.

" _There's some things about me, things I want to tell you, but I can't."_

_The incident would incite a switch forcing the traveler or world-crosser to trade places with the resident._

" _Hermione?" He pulled her into his arms with practiced ease. "I can't believe it's really you."_

_Running through a forest she'd never before seen… celebrating the holidays with the Weasleys… dancing with a Harry slightly different from the one she knew._

" _This is the place I want to be forever… with you… this with you… I always thought it was impossible, that I failed you… but you're here… you're here and you can't leave me again."_

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. The secret. The passage. The things he said last night. The dreams.

It was… _incriminating._

It all pointed to one thing—one wholly impossible thing.

Harry was _not_ Harry.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	17. Elegance & Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _Thank you so much to LeanaM for all your help with this chapter!_  
>  **

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

The timing couldn't have been worse.

Harry had awoken feeling unusually sated. It didn't even hit him - initially - that he wasn't in his own bed. Waking up in a strange bed had been something he'd become used to lately. The sun was streaming through the Third Floor window, warming his face, and maybe it was the contented warm feeling that triggered memories of a different sort of heat.

_Hermione._

_Writhing underneath him. Moving over him. His hands guiding her hips. Nestled so deep in perfection his heart soared. Indescribable pleasure he'd never come close to experiencing before._

Fuck!

He'd had sex with Hermione.

And of course with that knowledge came the revelation that he hadn't waited patiently like he promised her and himself that he would. He hadn't tried to dissuade her when she'd asked him. No, if he was painfully honest with himself—he'd practically seduced her. Hermione may have thought it was what she wanted, but really he'd been the one to push. He could have just laid down beside her, content to hold her in his arms and give her innocent kisses… but he hadn't.

He'd taken something from her before she truly knew who he was. Even though she had got to know him somewhat, she didn't know _everything_ and the guilt that swelled in his chest was unbearable. It tainted a perfect night.

In retrospect, the run-in with Sirius had messed with his head. His emotions had been running haywire. Hermione was the only person in his life who made sense—whom he could trust! He sought her company with a desperation that should have sent fear through him, but he only felt like he was spiraling out of control and she was his life support. Merlin, but he practically used her! She would never forgive him for taking advantage of her ignorance like he had. He couldn't forgive himself. It was the one promise he held sacred and he couldn't even keep it for the person he loved the most.

Any lingering delight he could feel from the memory of their night together faded with the knowledge of what he'd allowed to happen. There should be no secrets between them - especially during intimacy - and there had been.

Harry almost didn't want to face her, he was so embarrassed. He wasn't sure he could conceal the self-revulsion from his eyes. Hermione - ever observant and wise - would surely notice something was amiss. The idea of putting on a charade in front of her like he did with his godfather or his teachers or his fellow students made him sick. When she finally learned the truth, she would undoubtedly replay his actions the morning after _losing her virginity_. The best thing he could do was tell her the complete and honest truth but _fuck_ … there was a bloody ball tonight! Suppose one of the many Death Eaters in attendance had a hankering to see into her mind? A simple graze could mean dastardly results for him. Chances were she still wasn't skilled enough at this point to ward off an invasion of her mind. There was no way he could allow his secret to be compromised. At this point, her safety was more important than - fuck! - her feelings.

He rolled out of bed and searched for his pajama bottoms only to find that he'd vanished them. Cursing silently, he wrapped a sheet around his hips and made a mad dash from her room to his. He meant to seek her out immediately - wherever she may be - but he took one look in the mirror and decided against it. He looked like _hell._ There was no choice but to take a shower first.

And so he did. He showered and then dressed hastily, making sure he looked every bit like he knew the Harry of this world would look. He only took fifteen minutes to do so, but in the end he found there had been no reason to rush in the first place.

After first checking the library, several rooms, and the sitting room, he found Sirius in the kitchen.

"Where's Hermione?" He was on edge now, cursing himself for ever letting her out of his sight in the first place.

"Good morning to you too," Sirius spared him a glance over the top of _the Prophet_. "You do realize it's two in the afternoon?"

 _Two?!_ It couldn't be. Harry had never slept so late. He grit his teeth. "Where is she?"

"The Malfoys have their ball tonight. Surely you know how long witches take to ready themselves for such affairs. Her and that Patil girl Floo'd to Diagon Alley an hour ago. Don't worry, I told her to put any purchases on our account."

Harry couldn't keep the flash of disappointment from his face.

Misreading Harry's expression, Sirius rushed to assure him, "I asked nicely. I'm sure she'll listen. She really is a sweet witch, as far as Muggle-borns go."

"I should go meet up with her."

Sirius frowned. "You should stay with your godfather, whom you rarely get to see. Hermione will be fine. She needs her time with her friends just like you need yours. Besides, we need to start getting ready ourselves in an hour or so. The party starts at six. Or did you want to be fashionably late?"

Harry felt torn. On one hand, he wanted to rush to Hermione's side in utmost haste and confess everything. On the other, he knew the most important thing he should be doing was to keep up the facade. When Hermione returned, he imagined they'd be pressed for time as it was. He would have to speak to her another time when they weren't bound to be watched by others.

He'd have to act normal and make sure she was happy, even if it meant keeping the important things a secret.

Harry would have to keep up pretenses. There really was no other option.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The numbness hadn't left her.

At this point, Hermione was beginning to feel used to it.

All through the morning and her breakfast with Sirius. All through her afternoon of shopping with Parvati, Lavender, and Pansy. She hadn't batted an eyelid as she paid for purchases she barely recalled on Harry's account. None of that really seemed to matter, in the grand scheme of things. Even now as Parvati helped Hermione ready herself for the ball, she only felt glaringly empty.

Part of her felt like she must be wrong about all of this. Surely she was grasping at straws. Just because it all fit together so perfectly, didn't mean it had to be the truth. She was partly in denial, but the other part of her was just numb.

Parvati pulled and twisted her hair in an elegant updo all the while chatting away. Hermione answered automatically with forced enthusiasm, but her mind wasn't engaged. Even when she pulled on the long, white, silk dress with a slit on each side that reached her mid thigh, she could barely appreciate the beauty of it. She knew the material clung to her in a becoming way, accentuating her curves and baring the skin on her back where the thin straps criss-crossed well below her neck. Parvati charmed pearls in her hair to complement the gown. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized the girl that looked back. Her once warm eyes were hollow and unsure. The lightly applied makeup hid the bags of worry resting under her lower lashes. The nude gloss on her lips made her mouth pout prettily. The light dust of rouge on her cheeks brought life to her face her heart didn't feel.

Harry was not Harry.

No matter how silly it sounded, the words rang true. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. She refused to. She wasn't ready to accept it. Her normally sharp mind which could readily produce all the answers had no desire to tackle this issue. She was content to bask in the ensuing numbness such a revelation brought with it. She must believe it was really true if she felt like she did. No matter how her mind wished to deny the possibility, her heart seemed to have already accepted the answer and determined it to be genuine. She wasn't sure what she could rely on more.

Infusing enthusiasm in her voice, she chatted with Parvati when it became clear she would have to, but she she was content to stay silent if she could get away with it. Now that she was dressed, aiding Parvati was a welcome distraction. She enjoyed winding the girl's long waves of black hair and weaving it into an intricate masterpiece. She had gotten better with each passing year. When it was all said and done, she and Parvati looked every inch the Pureblood Princesses—though _she_ was glaringly _not_.

It was already seven o'clock, and well past the time that they should have left.

Hermione would have to see Harry, and she wasn't sure how she would react. Would she oust her feelings straight away or could she play pretend as effortlessly as he apparently could? There was no way to tell. She didn't seem capable of gauging her own emotions. _I look the part, but I'm just Muggle filth._ Never before had she felt so on the outs as she did in that moment. It was a whole other situation entirely when she was dealing with an _imposter._

"Come on, Hermione!" Parvati had enough enthusiasm for the both of them. "We're late enough as it is. Aren't you ready yet?"

Hermione forced a sereness she didn't feel and nodded. Sure. She could do this. A party at the Malfoys. _Just your typical Saturday night_ , she thought snidely. Her world had tipped on its axis and showing up to such an event was the very least of her concerns.

With her friend tugging insistently in her arm, she led, half-pulled Hermione down the stairs and to the Black Family Sitting Room.

Emerald green eyes caught and imprisoned her, watching as she descended the stairs. _Gods, why does he have to be so unbearably handsome? How is any girl to resist that… resist those eyes?_ She wanted to break out into a run and fling herself into his arms. She wanted to make for the door and run as far as her feet would take her. Then she wanted to whip out her wand and see how much further she could get with that. Only he could make her feel two opposing emotions that strongly. She'd just _become one_ with him and the fact that she couldn't simply throw herself at him and unload all her concerns made her heart clench with sadness. But he wasn't himself. He was someone else. How could she trust him?

"Hermione," he breathed, and he was suddenly right there. His gaze swam with so many words left unsaid and she wondered what he would have told her, had they been alone. What additional lies he was prepared to spew.

She took his outstretched hand, taking in his handsome form. His robes were striking, complementing the suit underneath. He looked every inch the debonair Pureblood he was supposed to be, a younger version of the man to his left. "Harry," she greeted him simply.

His jaw tightened as he lowered their joined hands.

"You girls are a vision," Sirius purred with a wink.

Hermione saw Parvati preen beside her. Hermione murmured her own compliments and then followed the Black patriarch to the Floo, watching as first Sirius then Parvati made their exit.

"Hermione." Harry ran a hand through his raven black hair which she so vividly remembered tugging on the night before. "I'm sorry I wasn't awake… this morning… when you woke up."

 _I'm not as naive as you take me for._ "I never went to sleep," she told him cryptically, not pausing to wait for his response before she took a handful of powder and stepped into the hearth. She threw down the green dust and allowed herself to be swept up in flames the same color of his eyes as she watched him disappear.

The entrance hall she stepped into was a far cry from the one she left. It was lavishly decorated in hues of black, silver, and slate with little accents and special touches that screamed Galleons. It was a home for those accustomed to luxury and it was abundantly clear. Floos from across and beside her lit up over and over again as she stood staring in a dreamlike haze. Dresses and gowns swished across the floor, passing through her vision in a blur. Voices mingled above the sound of the ignited Floos, but all she discerned was a distinct buzzing sound. She clenched the sides of her dress to keep from swaying before she felt _him_ behind her, his once comforting presence exerting pressure on the small of her back and making her aware of the witch and wizard trying to get her attention.

" _Hermione_ ," Sirius said a bit louder, with Parvati peering beside him. "Are you ready to go inside?" He looked faintly concerned which she found comical.

"Of course," she smiled serenely and allowed Harry to link his arm in hers, guiding them both to the ballroom.

The people blurred past her and she found she could only focus on one person at a time. Her head was in freefall and she briefly regretted agreeing to come at all. An elf carrying a tray of champagne flutes passed by and Hermione whisked a glass off the tray before downing it in one fail swoop.

"Hermione!"

She distantly registered the sound of Harry's alarmed voice and spared him a glance. He appeared taut with concern - concern for her - and Hermione felt a pull between pity and belligerence at the revelation. She shrugged and lifted her brows. "I'm at the _Malfoys_. What do you expect?"

"Do we need to… do you want to leave? So we can talk?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't be absurd." Beside her Sirius tipped back a silver flask to his mouth and she eyed it greedily. Fueled by adrenaline, she snatched the bottle from his hands before he finished capping it and took a long swig of the strong drink, delighting in the burn as the liquid slid down her throat.

She heard chuckling and she swayed before handing the silver canister back to Sirius. "Someone wants to party tonight." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione nodded, and joined in Parvati's laughter. Whatever Sirius was drinking was far more potent than the champagne had been and it hit her quickly.

She felt a hard tug on her arm. "Hermione," Harry hissed, his eyes narrowing.

Her eyes widened, before she wrenched away. "What? Am I not allowed to _have fun_? Isn't that the point of parties?"

"I just think you should take it easy." And then she was looking at the Harry she couldn't resist, the one that showed his feelings for her so clearly, like he didn't care about making himself vulnerable. It was the face of the man she trusted, but the image was shattered by the knowledge she carried in her heart—the knowledge she knew to be true.

"Okay, Harry. I'll take it easy." She was already feeling tipsy, and that coupled with her frenzied emotions, she really should do as he suggested.

"Harry!"

A shrill voice broke through the noise of the crowd and Harry spun on his heels, stiffening on the spot. She looked to her right and found Sirius and Parvati were just... _gone._ She followed Harry's gaze and saw a stunning woman making her way towards them, her glossy black curls pinned from her face and a black gown clinging to her curvy yet petite figure.

"My little Harry-kins."

"Little." His cheeks flamed becomingly and she marveled at his acting skills. _Imposter!_ Her mind screamed. "I'm hardly little, auntie."

The witch beamed back at him, her black eyes glittering. "You'll always be my little Harry, no matter how many years pass. Now, do give your aunt a hug. How I've missed you!" The small but fierce woman launched herself at the taller wizard and Harry embraced her back. "You know," she said pulling away, "you're in danger of being upstaged by your cousin. Dear Draco writes to me regularly, which is more than I can say for you." She poked him hard in the chest. "In sixth year I got a letter every week, now I haven't got one in _two months_? My feelings are hurt." Her lips set in a pout.

Harry's lips curled in a smirk. "I'm sorry, auntie. I've just been busy. I promise to get back to my usual weekly check-in after break. Draco simply _can't_ take my place as your favorite."

 _Oh, he's good,_ Hermione mused.

As if the witch heard her speak, she turned her hawk-like gaze on Hermione. Her eyes scanned the witch up and down before settling on her face and seeming to find her decidedly lacking. "Hmm," Harry's aunt huffed. "Is _this_ ," her eyes scanned meaningfully over Hermione again, "the reason you've been busy, Harry, dear?"

A muscle twitched by Harry's eye. "Auntie, this is my _girlfriend._ Hermione. Hermione this is my aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest as she helplessly stared at the notorious and formidable witch.

"I don't know you." Her shrewd gaze skewered her. "Why don't I know you?"

Hermione ducked her head. "I'm a Muggle-born, Lady Lestrange."

Bellatrix's head snapped up to scan Harry's face. "Soiling yourself with a Mudblood? Why—I heard you've been dueling somewhat like an expert. What business do you have with _her_? Why would you bring filth here?"

Something red and hot bloomed and spread over Harry's face. "Auntie, please, don't embarrass me. I just _told you_ she's my girlfriend. Can't you be nice?"

Bellatrix reached up on her tiptoes and pinched her nephews cheeks much to his apparent chagrin. Hermione watched the exchange as if she were watching a film play out. She didn't feel like she was present, not really. No one much regarded her as anyone important or worthy of conversing with anyway. Fortunately another tray of champagne flutes floated by and she took one in each hand before downing them swiftly, her promise to _take it easy_ forgotten in the midst of Bellatrix's words.

She eyed Harry like a casual observer, studying the contour of his jaw and the lopsided smirk he wore. He looked so _normal…_ so _right._ He could be the Harry she'd come to know since that fateful meeting on the Hogwarts Express some seven years ago.

But he wasn't.

Harry was not Harry.

She didn't know how many times she needed to think the words before she could finally accept them. Though, if she were being honest… Harry had _never_ been Harry to her. No. He'd always been _Potter._ She'd never had the privilege of knowing _Harry_. That was for girls like Pansy.

She laughed shrilly, the sound grating to her own ears. Harry flinched and even Bellatrix's head snapped up to study her with renewed interest. Hermione didn't care. Let them try and make sense of the girl carelessly dangling a champagne glass in each hand. She was the one faced with the most complex problem—more difficult than any Arithmancy problem she'd come across.

Another bark of laughter escaped from her lips.

Potter was not Potter!

He was fooling these people. He had fooled her! He played his part well, but she was now on to him. There would be no more playing Hermione Granger for a fool. This imposter had crossed worlds, and for what? His intentions weren't clear. But she was on to him!

As the duo continued to talk, Hermione continued to watch them curiously through her periphery. So this was _actually_ Harry. This was a Harry from a world she never knew existed, but was somehow here to turn the world she knew upside down. Begrudgingly, she had to admit—he was probably _better_ than his predecessor. But despite that happenstance, he was _someone else._ And that begged the question—who was _she_ to him?

Since his arrival, he'd taken an interest in her. It was an interest that shattered every prior expectation she had, certainly. One might call it _unhealthy._ She had become his focus, and why was that? What good was she to him? _I obviously exist in his world,_ she determined even as she found another drink and took a deep sip from it. _I've seen myself, I remember myself._ Visions of a confident girl running through the woods streaked across her mind. And then, the source of her anger hit her. It was such a shock she could do nothing but drift away from Harry and lose herself in the throng of people. She saw why she was so hurt. It wasn't because he had lied—no.

She lost herself to the crowd but felt herself tripping. She saw black dress robes - immaculate in appearance - and she grabbed for them in order to steady herself. The person she clung to spun around swiftly, to find the source that had disturbed him, his easy smirk dropping.

"I'm sorry…" Hermione hung her head. "I lost my footing."

His eyes were black like the witch—Bellatrix. So his hair was also, but there was a light dusting of grey at his temples. He was older, like Sirius, but distinguished. He was handsome.

"No need to apologize, Miss… ?"

"Granger," she answered readily, too resigned or too drunk to very much care about her lineage.

"Miss Granger." He graced her with a brilliant smile. "Of course… I should have known. Your loveliness gives you away."

Her cheeks flamed magenta as she straightened, brazenly meeting the wizard's dark stare. She was distantly aware of the people crowded around him, watching her carefully. Dear Merlin… maybe he was someone important! _Run away,_ every sane part of her instructed.

"Sir?"

"I've heard tales about you. They say you're a competent witch and your spellcasting is exceptional. A seventh year at Hogwarts, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir." Who was this man, and how did he know her? Who in Merlin's name discussed _her_ \- someone so easily dismissed on every other occasion - with the likes of him?

"My Lord." A strong hand caressed the silk of her lower back and _held her._ "I see you've met my girlfriend."

Hermione may have been irritated that Harry had somehow been able to detangle himself from Bellatrix and rush to her side, if it hadn't been for the feathery-light brushing against her mind that clued her into the fact that someone was _looking._ Not looking in the curious sense as if they were studying her, but looking into her mind. She didn't bother with trying to ascertain _who_ the culprit was, but instead launched into Legilimency Training, Second Technique. She submitted to the blur of her surroundings and the fogginess of the alcohol and let her convoluted, but vetted thoughts float to the surface, all the while hiding the important ones. The sweep on her mind was hardly invasive, just a light grazing, but enough to trap someone ill-prepared who might be worrying about something incriminating. She made sure no such worries pervaded her brain.

_This dress feels like liquid. I wonder how it will feel when Harry slips it off me. I want to dance. Badly. The music is perfect. I can feel it pounding through my bones. What a lovely night. I'm so glad to be here. So glad to have the privilege…_

"Thank you, My Lord," Harry was saying. "I shall."

_My Lord._

There was only one wizard referred to with _that_ particular title.

The Dark Lord.

Her body stilled and she resisted sighing in relief as she felt the Dark Lord… Voldemort recede from her mind. _I didn't give away your secret, Harry. I'm not as dumb as you take me for. She may have been better but I'm certainly not useless._ Her dimples hurt as she held her smile as if petrified, a fierce and inexplicable sense of protection for Harry flaring in her chest. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to hide his secret. She didn't know why she could feel loyalty for someone she didn't know, but she impossibly did… for the moment.

" _Hermione_." Harry's grip on her arm once they were a safe distance away was like a vice, . "I'm sorry for my aunt. She's a right-cunt, even Sirius says so. I'm sorry for making you meet… him. It was _unavoidable,_ you know. These are _His_ people. Please don't be angry with me."

"I just wanna dance, Harry." Her speech slurred, but she didn't care. She had to get away. Being this close to him spelled disaster. He knowingly brought her to the pit of vipers. He didn't care. He couldn't. Not truly. He cared for someone else. "I want another…"

He gaped at her. "Alright. Let's dance."

 _Fuck no!_ She didn't want to dance with _him_ The _imposter._ His proximity made her heart clench in sorror. It made her her reservations topple. She wasn't strong enough to resist him. As soon as she was able, she lost herself in the crowd, spinning until she clashed into something solid. Or someone, rather.

"Hermione!" Parvati exclaimed, her sharp eyes catching hers and scanning her. "Are you okay? You look shaken."

"I'm fine."

"Not as fine as that piece of wizard right there," Lavender motioned to a man - Bulgarian, by the looks of him - to their left. "He's fucking _hot._ "

Pansy smirked. "Lavender is on the prowl, as you can imagine. After…"

Hermione didn't need to be reminded about certain ginger-headed wizards right now.

"And Pansy has her eyes on the Malfoy fortune. Nothing gets her going _more_." Lavender chuckled, nudging Hermione, but Hermione sighed in exasperation and burst from her grip. She drifted from the laughing girls, on a mission to ditch them before Harry found her once again.

Harry… or whoever _the fuck_ he was.

She blushed again at the way she cursed, even if it was only inside her head. _Maybe it's all inside my head._ A mad cackle escaped her mouth.

"Granger?"

Hermione spun around before she was facing Nott, of all people. "Nott?" She wrinkled her nose as the pompous bastard whom she so loathed came into view. "Merlin, save me."

"You're a right bitch, aren't you, Granger?"

She shrugged. "Apparently so."

It hit her then. The reason she was so angry with Harry. Again, she remembered—it wasn't because he had lied. No! His lies made _sense._ How could he begin to tell her the truth? Not given his circumstances. It was something else entirely which pissed her off.

"How can you be so happy to pull off a Transfiguration of that magnitude on an individual?" Hermione inquired moments later, her arms resting around the taller wizard's neck. "That part isn't so hard. It's the _untransfiguration_ that's the issue—obviously. That's the most difficult."

Nott rolled his eyes. "You want to quiz me at a bloody ball… during break? What does it matter, Granger? We don't need to discuss theory _now._ " His hands flexed over the curve of her waist. "There are more important things, don't you think, than besting me in a subject when no one else is here to see?"

"You're here," she pointed out. She sensed Harry watching her from afar - undoubtedly displeased - but she was on a single track mind to get wasted, and Nott didn't seem to mind procuring her a few drinks to aid her in this mission.

He squeezed her tighter. "Where's your boyfriend?" Brown eyes slightly darker than hers took on a hungry gleam. "Let you out of his sight, did he?"

Hermione snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "I don't know why they think you need a potion to get you more _amorous._ You're clearly passionate _enough_ ," she scolded, her eyebrows knitting together in irritation. "Why do you tease them so?"

"What the bloody Hell are you babbling about now?" he dipped her sharply.

She felt Harry's gaze on her again, but couldn't be bothered to cut the dance short. _Nott is from my world, Harry. You're not!_ Nott's lecherous grin would have normally scared her away, but she wasn't easily scared off today. _Harry's worried._ Her heart gave a painful leap. _Maybe I should talk to him._ Nott twirled her and she again saw a flash of all the witches and wizards who very likely meant her harm. _But not here. Not with so many onlookers._

Abruptly, she was assaulted by a vision of curling, billowing white smoke as it popped through the room. _It's not that he lied. It's about me. What am I? To him._

Hermione felt her heart sink as the unwelcome thoughts intruded her mind. _I get why he kept it a secret, but what I don't get is why I'm so important. He knew me… in his old world. I was a tangible person and close to him. He wants that again with me, but I'm not the same person he knew._

_The same person he fell in love with._

_What are the chances I can measure up to her, whoever she is?_

_Maybe I'm the imposter._

Of course. That's why she drank herself to oblivion. That's why she forgot herself around Purebloods. _She_ was the imposter. Harry was in love with a shadow of who she herself was. Someone better. Someone evolved. Someone who others viewed as formidable as she herself viewed Bellatrix, maybe. She paled in comparison. She could never fill those shoes.

_He loved a Hermione…_

_...But I'm not that Hermione._

Gasps could be heard as the white smoke curled and popped. A figure appeared from the wispy fog and she unwittingly surged towards it before Nott hauled her back.

_Neville._

"Get back, Granger." Nott's fingers dug into her bare shoulder painfully.

Neville looked taller and fuller and hardened and wholly different but it was _him._

The white smoke caused a disturbance wherever it landed. Hermione broke apart from Nott, smiling a genuine smile for the first time since she'd left the library that day. Spells sizzled through the air and cut across a sea of dancing witches and wizards, prompting Hermione to laugh like she'd finally well and truly lost it. She looked fondly on the shifting sea of wispy white as it flitted about the ballroom as if gazing at old friends.

_Oh!_

_The Order is here._

_How delightful._

**~oOo*oOo~**

"She's fucking trashed, Harry," Malfoy said, surprise laced in his voice. "Why is she trashed?"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling very much on the brink of fracturing. "Beats me."

"Is she mad at you or something?"

"Why would you think that?"

Draco snorted. "She's dancing with _Nott_ of all people. She loathes him."

"I'm not her fucking keeper." Another rough yank through his hair. "I'd never tell her what to do."

Draco's hands slid up through the air. "Okay, mate. I don't fucking know. I've just never seen her quite _like this_ before."

Harry swallowed down his trepidation. Neither had he. Merlin—she may as well be another person entirely! It was obvious to him now that they should have had a conversation well before the ball. Godric's balls—it was abundantly clear! To have been so close with her the night before and not to have discussed it this morning was obviously a mistake. It was messing with her mind.

He should have never brought her here.

She was acting so… _indifferent._ It was like she hardly cared… for his feelings! She wasn't acting like Hermione at all!

She'd met Voldemort and hadn't seemed phased in the slightest.

Something had happened, and Harry couldn't figure out what exactly had changed between them. It wasn't just the sex. It couldn't be—could it? Was that enough to make her act so… barmy? He should have been there, sitting up and ready when she awoke. Who knows what conclusions she had come to while he slept. It was a mistake to let his guard down around her. He now knew that with a certainty.

"She'll make a scene," Malfoy warned as Pansy looped her arm through his and tugged him into the sea of dancing people. "Keep an eye on her."

Now Harry stood alone. He hardly minded the solitude. He was used to living on the outskirts even if the Harry of this world hadn't been. Several witches attempted to catch his eye, but he spared them no attention. His eyes were only for Hermione… and the way Nott's hands roamed over her back possessively when he twirled her. Fierce jealousy surged in Harry's chest. It should be Harry who was dancing with her! She didn't even _like_ Nott. Was she purposefully trying to vex him? He couldn't seem to focus on much else but their torturously slow and languorous movements.

So how he saw the flash of white light immediately was beyond him.

In retrospect, he probably was attuned to it—it had been a modified form of Apparition of Moody's creation. Certainly one Harry - a wielder of the Light - was well-versed in using.

He recognized Order-travel when he saw it.

The Malfoy's Christmas Ball was being breached by the Order—for some unfathomable reason. And the second person to notice it - the Dark Lord - rapidly fired off instructions.

Harry's limbs moved robotically. He saw Death Eaters stiffen and draw their wands. He saw the wispy, white light blur around him so he wasn't sure just how many Order members had dared attack such a well-fortified function. His wand sprung from his cufflink and fell to grip in his hand. He vaguely registered Nott pulling Hermione back from one solitary figure that shimmered and vanished, before reappearing on a platform in front of him. It was Neville, of course.

Or Harry supposed it was.

The Neville that appeared hardly bore a resemblance to the one Harry had known—even after the wizard had slimmed out and become Herbology professor.

No.

This wizard was clad in black and his features were hardened, his gaze steely. He shot off a rapid spell from his wand without uttering a word, shattering the largest chandelier in the Ballroom and cloaking the room into a dim, darkness only lit by floating candelabras. Harry caught and held the wizard's gaze, surprised to find unwavering determination burning in Neville's eyes. Neville didn't spare Harry a passing thought, so focused was he on whatever mission he was here to do. He moved with a quickness that astounded Harry.

This was a Neville Harry didn't know.

And then the wizard disappeared in a cloud of white smoke once more before a spell could hit him.

The Ballroom erupted in chaos. Wizards clamored to follow their leaders instructions. Witches ducked and screamed as they made their way to the sidelines, all except a certain few who Harry recognized as boldly declared Death Eaters. The rest drifted to the perimeter. Hermione stood gaping until she was tugged and retreated absent-mindedly with her friends, a stunned expression on her face. Harry was torn between rushing to her side and ushering her back to the safety of the house, or fulfilling his duties to Voldemort.

Conducting a series of quick calculations in his head, Harry came to the conclusion that Hermione was in no danger from the Order—they'd been her friends. But she would be in danger if Harry negated on his duties to the Dark Lord and tucked tail and ran. It wouldn't be merely her, but Sirius as well.

Harry had to play the role he'd committed to.

The sound of the Order-Apparation as it popped and curled around the room had once been comforting, but now it sounded chillingly like a threat. Harry's eyes scanned the troublesome smoke as it wreaked chaos around the room, flitting in and out of the Death Eater's grasp. The Order members moved so quickly, they seemed untouchable. It took the dark, wispy grasp of the Death Eater's own flying capabilities to parry the Order's moves. Only senior Death Eaters like his aunt Bellatrix appeared capable of the modified form of Apparation, but Harry was familiar with both forms of travel and knew intricately how they worked.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Draco. "Harry," the wizard shouted. "We need to get them. Those _tricky fucks_."

His decision made, his eyes honed in on one particular movement as it darted about the room. Gritting his teeth and willing his body fluid and weightless, he pulled his body in the awaiting embrace of Dark Apparition and followed the spry little cloud as it made its way across the room, hexing Death Eaters as it flew. Harry picked up the chase and was on its trail as it reached the opposite end of the Ballroom.

Perhaps it was Neville himself. Harry couldn't imagine the appreciation he would get from capturing such a senior Order member—the most important of all.

Relishing in the black oblivion which gave him wings, he surged towards the flighty white cloud of smoke, even as it rounded the corner and left the Ballroom altogether. Harry sensed it wasn't Neville at all. No, the being seemed wholly feminine, but still he pursued her. One capture was better than none at all.

The white light proved to be elusive _as fuck._ Harry followed it - or _her_ \- all the way to the Malfoy library before he cornered her and she was forced to solidify. Smoky clouds morphed into a slight, petite frame, giving way to a girl wearing jeans and a worn grey jumper, long blonde hair pulled hastily into a ponytail. Expressive blue eyes captured his with an intensity that threw him.

"Luna," he breathed, landing deftly to his feet, wand clenched in his hand.

"Potter." The witch inexplicably smiled at him, as if she weren't somehow in danger for her life. "There's Wrackspurts hovering around your head - more than I've ever seen before - did you know?"

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. "Luna, I've never encountered a Wrackspurt before—they aren't real, love."

A chuckle bubbled from her throat. "Why would they reveal themselves to you—someone who doesn't _even_ believe in their existence?"

Her body fell lax and her gaze wandered over him, leaving a distinctly uncomfortable trail in its wake. Harry felt decidedly _vulnerable,_ as if she was the one holding her wand to him. Luna always seemed to possess the uncanny ability to _read_ him and that trait seemed to follow her in this universe as well.

"You're different, aren't you?"

He swallowed convulsively, sweat beading on his neck. "Yeah, that's right, I'm different. You can't imagine how different. I have my priorities sorted this time."

She nodded as if such a ridiculous statement made perfect sense. "I'm not sure I know you anymore."

He knew what she was doing… trying to distract him! But he _needed_ to do this. He needed to prove himself to Voldemort. Capturing an Order member would ensure Hermione's safety. "Shut up!"

"Potter?"

Her eyes were so innocent. Revulsion welled up in his throat, tasting oddly like venom. Why did she have to look so vulnerable? He needed to be in _His_ good graces. He needed to do this—for Hermione! "I'm taking you in, Luna. You can't stop me."

"Oh, dear. That's rather bad luck, isn't it?"

Harry felt himself wavering and in a last ditch effort to regain control, called upon his magic. He relished in the sweet relief of unchecked _power._ He was doing the right thing… the only thing he could do. A dark smirk tugged on his lips. "Come on, Little Eagle," his wand hand relaxed as he advanced on her stealthily, "you can make it easy on yourself—just tell me how the other two are evading us."

Distantly, he heard the tell-tale pop of Apparation entering the library and knew they had company. There would be no changing his mind now. He'd made his decision. Footsteps slowly advanced on him.

"Other two?" Luna frowned and her expression turned faintly sorrowful as she studied him. "Oh, Harry… there's so very _many more than two_."

His wand hand trembled as a pang of indecision seared through his chest. _More than two?_ But Sirius… but Voldemort! They all said the Order was _nothing._ Unbidden, visions of Order-controlled Apparation invading the Malfoy ball invaded his mind. The billowing smoke had moved so quickly, had there been four… or five? How many had he seen… truly?

How many Order members _were there?_

His heart suddenly felt like it was falling in freefall. His hand stuttered and fell but it was too late as other Death Eaters muttered their praise and approached an unarmed Luna, malevolence in their gaze.

Hermione!

Fuck.

What had he done?

Luna's eyes stayed glued to his, her gaze conveying what her mouth could not, and Harry felt suddenly… _defeated._

He'd aided the enemy, believing them to be his only option.. But was that the case, really? Everything he'd been told about the Order of this universe… had it been _true_? Was Voldemort really the lesser of two evils? His only chance at a future with Hermione?

Luna was swiftly bound before his very eyes, and he didn't bother to conceal the doubt from his stare as the blonde continued to watch him curiously.

How could Hermione ever forgive him if it turned out he stood in the way of her happy ending? He'd so easily written them off, but Luna's words reverberated through his brain. If it turned out the Order was more organized than he'd anticipated, had he well and truly fucked up? He'd believed himself to be Hermione's _savior_ … but who was he really?

The man who lied to her and took advantage of her and captured her friends, friends who stood for the Light? How could he ever explain his actions? How could he begin to make her see?

He wasn't her savior.

He was her demon.

He'd doomed them both.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	18. The Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Beta Love to LeanaM who like, SO helped me plan out this chapter. I'm not responsible for this cliffie * averts eyes * or I guess maybe I am, a bit._

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

There was a stabbing pain behind her eyes and her head pounded as if it had a pulse of its own.

Hermione thrust her hand through her now disorderly hair and yanked it through, wincing as she caught it on tangles. She wanted another drink. She should still be at least slightly drunk, but the adrenaline rush from the night's events had effectively killed her buzz and left her with an uncomfortable edginess which only caused her to shift irritably.

 _Dear God!_ She couldn't wrap her head around it—around _any_ of it. It was pure madness! Dealing with the world-shattering news about Harry and her resultant feelings, running face to face with Voldemort and having him _brush her mind_ , then being happened upon by the Order? She'd seen glimpses of students who had been friendly to her and whom she hadn't seen in months. They hadn't stayed long—only long enough to cause mayhem and a great deal of panic. There was no real damage. They hadn't taken anyone and they hadn't killed anyone either. It all seemed very much like a bold but ill-advised reminder of their existence.

Perhaps her surprise at seeing the Order was largely due to the propaganda _The Prophet_ insisted on putting out. _Prophet_ readers were led to believe the small remnants of the Order had been chased and relegated to the far outskirts of the country, only managing to hide and evade capture thanks to their small numbers and willingness to live like scavenging animals in order to survive. Even Hermione had bought into the now obvious lies. The picture _The Prophet_ painted hadn't been what she witnessed tonight.

She sat down heavily on her bed, bending her head to her knees and threading her fingers through her curls. Her head throbbed at the base of her skull making it extremely difficult to focus. The magnitude of seeing the Order crashing a Ministry-sanctioned event caused her to feel as astonished as she was proud. But she found herself quite embarrassingly on the wrong side to receive them. She had shared a rather shameful glance with the Neville for the few seconds he'd materialized in front of her. What a picture she must have made! Dressed in Pureblood finery and staggering drunkenly in the midst of Death Eaters. She wondered what he had thought of her, if he had even spared her a thought to begin with. In the moments in which her eyes followed the white smoke as it flitted around the room, she wanted nothing more but to throw caution to the wind and join their ranks. If only they'd taken her with them! That would have been a perfectly wonderful solution to this madness she found herself in. Her brain worked frantically to plan her next move.

She was plagued with indecisiveness. It weighed her down like the heaviest of stones. On the one hand, she didn't want to leave Harry's side, as preposterous as that was. She would follow him to the ends of the earth no matter what dangers awaited them, impostor or not! On the other hand, she couldn't - in good conscious - sit idly by and do nothing while some of the only students who had been kind to her in school fought an impossible battle—fought for _people like her_. It wouldn't be right! As much as she cared about Harry - and she realized she cared for the wizard quite a lot - there was no way she could _do nothing_. It simply wasn't in her capability. Surely he had to realize Hermione was bound to help any resistance that challenged the current Ministry and its rigorous rules and prejudices against Muggle-borns. Despite the fact that he'd rather successfully been able to pull strings for her - to make accomodations _just for her_ \- she couldn't rest easy unless it was fair for everyone. Apart from her concern over Harry being from another dimension and possibly only pursuing her because he once loved someone who looked just like her, there was also the issue of Hermione's conscience, and the compelling need to join a cause which she believed in.

She didn't know where Harry fit into such a plan. She didn't know, because she didn't know where _she_ fit into his life. If she were merely a replacement - a shadow of someone else _better in every way_ \- how could she bear it? Defiance blazed in her eyes. What even, if anything, did she have to offer? Apart from Harry, it would seem her identity was rather bland. She hadn't accomplished much, she wasn't an exceptional student. due to her tendency to always restrain herself, though her spellcasting was proficient and had improved thanks to his tutelage but again—even that was a credit due to him. Hermione herself had never taken a stand for anything. She'd never distinguished herself as a witch of notable worth. Harry's sudden and abrupt shift in desire for her was now explained—he was only drawn to her because she carried the face of someone who had no doubt been all those things and more. How could she ever compare? How could she ever settle for a life knowing he would always pretend somewhere in the back of his mind that she was _that other girl_? How could she be okay with the leniency the Death Eaters granted her thanks to his influence? It was the easy way out, but ultimately accepting that life would eat away at her until it left her guilt-ridden and hollow inside.

Hermione finally could see what she was meant to do, what everything up until this moment added up to, and there was simply no way she could let her overwhelming attraction or tumultuous feelings for Harry get in the way.

An Order member had been captured.

Not just any Order member, but sweet, eccentric Luna. The Ravenclaw witch would have been a sixth year had she attended Hogwarts in September, but instead she'd joined Neville and Chang on the road and chosen the life of a nomad—traveling from day to day and unsure where her next meal would come from. The blonde girl may never have been very close to Hermione, but she imagined she might have been, had they not been separated by a whole school year and a house. Luna had at least always been kind to Hermione, but now she'd been captured.

Hermione wondered if it had been worth trifling with Voldemort and the Death Eater-controlled Ministry just to lose one of their own? She imagined not. She desperately hoped that the Order hadn't interrupted the Malfoy's party out of hubris, and that there was another, important reason for taking such a risk. Whatever it was, she hoped they were successful.

Once she allowed herself to hope, the feeling sort of seemed to run away with her. What if… there was a chance she was looking at this _all wrong_? Far too pessimistically? Hermione was a rationalist by nature, and reasoning came easy to her, but it was likely she was coming to the worst conclusions just to avoid the possibility of more hurt. She tried to look at things from Harry's perspective. Here was a man who had traveled from another universe entirely. He'd slid into the role of his counterself and perhaps it wasn't a role he had been familiar with.

No.

Hermione doubted it was.

From what little she could recall from her dreams and the glimpse she had of his memory, the overall feeling she got when summing up the general vibe of Harry and his former life was one _rebellious_ in nature. Harry and his friends seemed to question authority and always seemed to be running from something. There was no indication that he'd enjoyed the life of an elitist like the Potter of her world had. Perhaps it would be not as impossible as she thought to sway Harry into switching his allegiance. If Harry was in actuality no stranger to struggle and fighting for a righteous cause as she suspected - as the tuggings on her heart led her to believe - then who was to say he couldn't be persuaded in leaving it all behind to join her in this?

Yes, there was still the issue of his misdirected feelings for her, but was there not a chance he could - through experience and more time spent together - one day come to know her, and maybe begin to develop feelings for her, the real her, as she already had for him? It might be a wild leap to hope for something so unlikely, but there was always a chance. Hermione had felt sparks between them, had shared magic with him, she knew how it felt to mingle her very essence with his. That feeling couldn't be replicated—surely it couldn't. She owed it to herself to give him at least this chance. She might find herself unworthy of the devotion she had suddenly found herself the object of, but if he understood her need to do this - to join the Order and become her own person if they would have her - she could begin to find confidence and worthiness in herself, something she didn't have when compared to the other version of herself. Perhaps he would begin to see her separately as well, and if that could happen, then a relationship between the two of them could be possible.

Her attention was pulled from her thoughts when she saw the door to her room slowly opening. Harry - the object of her complicated musings - entered her room looking haggard but still devastatingly handsome. His robes had been discarded sometime during the night, his jet black hair was tousled and unkempt, and his silver tie loosened around his neck. Hermione's heart clenched in her chest at the sight of him. It wasn't fair that he should coax this reaction from her when she likely meant so little to him. What was worst was the way he treated her—he regarded her with such sincere concern under his exhausted features she could almost believe she'd drawn the wrong conclusions, before she remembered that Harry was just confused.

It wasn't her he saw when he looked at her face, at least not yet.

"Are you alright?" He edged tentatively closer, as if approaching a frightened animal and hoping not to scare her away. "I'm sorry we had to stay so long after." His expression shifted into one of derision as he glanced away. " _He_ questioned us before we were able to leave."

Hermione didn't need to ask in order to confirm who the 'he' Harry was referring to was. He obviously meant Voldemort, and she wondered not for the first time what place Harry held in Voldemort's ranks. It might not be as terrible as her worst suspicions liked to frighten her with, it could just be protocol to question everyone on the night's events while their minds were still fresh. She herself had been questioned by a sharp-eyed Ministry official. She tried to meet his gaze, but it was a challenge, especially with so many thoughts running rampant through her head and so many things left unsaid between them. She wasn't sure where to begin. "I'm fine," she answered truthfully. Really, she hadn't felt so calm and collected since before her startling revelation. Coming to a decision had seemed to settle everything. "I was… a bit out of sorts earlier. But I have purpose now." She clenched the sides of her dress. "Harry… I want to join them. I want to find them, and I want to fight with them." She was surprised at her choice of topics. There was so much to say, but that was her first choice.

Just like earlier, Hermione didn't need to confirm who the 'them' she had referred to was. Harry knew it was the Order. She could tell by the way his eyes widened, just fractionally, and the rapid swallow in his throat. She studied him with interest, determined not to miss anything that would clue her into his intentions. When his features hardened imperceptibly, Hermione had to rein back her disappointment, already preparing for the worst and readying a rebuttal.

"The Order…" He trailed off and averted his gaze before he spoke again, his voice sounding distant. "They aren't an option."

"Yes, they are." She rose from her seat and found the courage to force him to look at her again. If he meant to deny her, he would have to do so to her face. "Think about it: the Ministry is targeting Muggle-borns and their laws are only getting worse. The Order fights against them, it only makes sense that I should join them." Her jaw clenched and unclenched. "I will join them. Only… I was hoping you might join them with me."

"Hermione." He still wouldn't meet her gaze directly. "I can't."

She took a deep breath and exhaled it through her mouth. "I know it seems new and frightening and positively crazy _now_ , but trust me, you can. _We_ can. We _must_ —."

"Hermione," he interrupted her sharply, finally deigning to meet her stare and she reared back at the intensity of it, "I really _can't._ I've already drawn the line."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can always make the decision—."

"I brought them Lovegood."

Her mouth dropped and she promptly snapped it closed as she stared at him, trying desperately to find some sign of insincerity in his words.

He wouldn't… he couldn't! Of all the possibilities she'd ran through her head of what she was up against she could never have guessed him capable of this. Harry - _her savior_ \- Luna's captor? How someone who displayed so much disdain towards Pureblood prejudices, who had broken down boundaries and dared anyone to call him out on it, could then knowingly bring the enemy an Order member on a silver platter—it was inconceivable.

Bile rose in Hermione's throat. If she had been angry with Harry before, her ire paled in comparison to what she felt directed towards him now.

She was livid.

Her temperature raged like a wild beast, caged for the moment but certainly not for long. Fists clenching by her side, she began pacing. How could he possibly to do this? How could he do this _to her_? He must have known of her affection to the Order. She was sure she mentioned it before. What a cowardly, loathsome man he was! To side with those who wished to oppress people like her? To capture people _who helped_ people like her? Why, it was the same thing as siding against her.

Oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions that swirled inside of her like a raging tempest, he continued on. "You have to understand—I did it for us! I was solidifying our position."

She gasped. " _Solidifying our position_?" It was madness! The cold sting of betrayal penetrated through the storm, leaving a feeling of numbness to settle in her chest. "You can't be serious."

He pressed his lips together, his eyes darkening and appearing more petulant than defensive. He certainly looked every inch the debonair elitist he was pretending to be. "I've bought you protection. They won't hurt you… they won't _ever_ bother you. I've kept my word and proven my loyalty. It's the best move I had, and I literally considered everything."

"I didn't want this." She shook her head, the shock causing her mind to buzz. "I never asked for this… _protection_. I never would. You might have known had you asked my opinion." Her chest rose and fell in shallow pants, her gaze turning incredulous. "Harry… are you _with them_?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in apparent exasperation. "In appearances only. But," he took both of her hands in his, gripping them almost desperately as his green eyes skewered her, "My one and only concern is for _us._ I'll do anything to keep us safe. And this was the best way. Don't you see that?"

She didn't know him. Sweet Morgana—she didn't know him _at all_! Who was this man she had… caught feelings for? She no longer saw the brave wizard she'd grown accustomed to seeing - the one who could stand in front of a room full of Purebloods and bring her proudly as his date - all she saw was a desperate man trying to find the easiest path to get what he wanted. It was a bone-chilling revelation, because despite this awareness, she _still_ wanted him. It made her sick and ashamed, but a part of her still clung to him, worried she may lose him forever. This man who had committed such an atrocious act and all for her sake… how could a person be capable of making her feel so torn?

Her hands hung limply in his strong grip. Her eyes slid down to them, before finding his eyes again. "How could you?" Her voice was a breathy, whisper, but he reared back as if slapped.

He recovered from her sorrowful disapproval soon enough, his face twisting in belligerence. "You don't get it now, but you will come to find I was right. You'll understand I did the best thing for us."

There was suddenly a large crash downstairs, and Harry glanced away, his grip tightening on Hermione's hands.

She smiled softly, her eyes sparkling with what, she wasn't sure, may have been unshed tears, may have been the knowledge that she was on the verge of losing something special. "You know, Harry," she said slowly, so he could hear every word, "I figured out your secret." Her eyes glimmered and she wouldn't be surprised if the tears began to flow, but she made a conscious effort to hold them back. "I've sorted it, you know. It took me a bit, but I know who you are."

He pulled his attention away from the noise coming from the door and whirled back around to face the girl he held onto tightly. He was tense and his composure appeared strained. "You… you what?"

"I know why you suddenly started showing me interest out of nowhere, acting like a different person entirely—its because you are." She swallowed. "A different person entirely, I mean."

He stilled, but his eyes flashed with a hundred different thoughts, scrambling to come up with a suitable reaction to her accusation.

"And when you looked at me," she exhaled a shaky breath through her nose, "you weren't seeing me—you saw her."

"Hermione, how did you," he faltered and then seemed to shift directions altogether, "of course you sorted it. You are brilliant, it's not so surprising. I just… I wanted to explain it myself—."

He cut himself short as more ruckus could be heard coming from the downstairs. Harry pointedly ignored it though, fixing Hermione with all his attention.

"I know you doubted I'd be able to keep your secret safe from the Dark Lord, but I did. He brushed my mind, and _I still did_." She would have beamed, immensely proud of herself, if not for the melancholy she felt given the gravity of the situation. "He saw nothing, Harry. Not even after I'd had a drink too many, I still guarded it for you."

"Merlin, Hermione," he stepped away from her and turned around, shoving both hands in his hair, before turning back and stalking towards her with a purpose. He stopped in front of her and cupped her face in both hands. "You knew since before the Ball, and you didn't say anything? Merlin, why didn't you say something? I wondered—." He cut himself off to kiss her, to kiss her so ferociously her already knackered mind spun and stilted. It wasn't fair—she wanted his kiss more than she wanted air in her lungs! She knew she shouldn't, but she did. The revelation didn't even surprise her a tiny bit. He would always have that effect on her. His touch would always send tingling sensations blossoming through her abdomen and sparks whispering down her spine. "I was so scared," he whispered against her lips, not breaking contact, "so worried, but now it makes sense. You should have told me. I have so much to explain and _I will._ "

And perhaps that was his strategy, as he seemed to have one for everything, to kiss her into silent submission. She couldn't allow him to, and so though it pained her, she broke away and glared at him reproachfully, but worried it was ineffective thanks to the heat still burning in her eyes. "Don't act like its _nothing_ —to have misled me all this time."

"Look, you must understand why I had to keep it a secret. How could I have explained it all to you before? You never would have believed me. You only just started to learn Occlumency. I told you all I could. I never meant to lie to you, you must know that."

Hermione's heart tugged at the look of utter wretchedness on his face. He was so determined to make her see things _his way_ , nothing else seemed to matter much. "I understand perfectly." She pressed her eyes closed, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable. "I don't fault you for keeping that a secret."

They both heard Sirius call his name from downstairs. Harry cast a look in the direction of the door, hand subconsciously falling to his wand, before he looked Hermione's way again, but he was clearly distracted.

"What I don't understand is when you became _so cowardly_. I never saw this side of you, and I don't like it, not at all."

He spoke between gritted teeth. "My world was different. I fought that fight before. I was the opposite of everything this Harry was. I don't want that life again. I don't want _to lose you_ again."

A pang of sorrow shot through her chest that caused her to teeter where she stood. There it was—the pinnacle of her fears. He didn't want to lose _her_ again. Harry didn't see Hermione at all, but only the woman he had once loved and lost. Her absurd hopes and fantasies about running away with Harry to the Order and him one day coming to know and fall for her were abruptly dashed. A certain coldness wheedled its way in her veins. This is perhaps how it felt to have one's heart broken. Hers felt ripped in two. "I think you're wrong about you and your counterpart," she rasped, her tone empty and hollow. "Quite the contrary, actually. You and him have very much in common. I find you to be incapable of empathy and incredibly self-absorbed."

He wasn't focusing on her very much now, seemingly concerned with whatever was happening with Sirius on the first floor. He tried to brush off her concerns. "Hermione, _love,_ we'll sort this all out after you've had a good sleep. I know you'll see reason. Everything I've done I've done for us. Everything. Nothing else matters." He clutched his wand in his hand, eyes darting towards the door. "Look, why don't you get some sleep and we'll talk about it tomorrow? Believe me, we have a lot to discuss, but I need to find out what Sirius is making such a ruckus about."

As difficult as it was, even when he was distracted by other things, it was still hard to hold his stare. He still had that uncanny ability to see _too much_ , but she gathered the strength to do it, and she took the opportunity to commit his face to memory, memorizing every line and contour of his gorgeous features. "Alright," she told him simply, afraid to say anything more.

A rueful grin spread across his lips as if he had already won - as if it were all just _some game_ \- and he headed towards the door.

Hermione watched his retreating form, wishing desperately for him to turn back. The small, bitter voice in the back of her mind grew louder as sadness enveloped her. Harry had done it before - he had fought the good fight - she just _knew_ he had. He had admitted so much, confirming her suspicions. He had done it for _his Hermione_ but he wouldn't do it for _her._ Maybe he was never brave in the first place. Brave people didn't just quit being brave. You either were or you weren't.

When he froze and his steps faltered at the door Hermione felt hope surge once more in her battered heart.

He turned to slowly face her and swallowed convulsively. "Hermione, you can't _possibly_ understand how much I _care_ about you. I—," he stammered, grappling for the words before his face slackened in defeat, "I care _so much_."

Tears lodged in her throat, making her voice come out throaty. "So do I, Harry."

He flashed her another grin and with that he was gone. He took her happiness with her. She might have collapsed then, her spine wanting to cripple itself under the weight of the heartache her chest suddenly carried, but she refused to let it break her.

No.

She wouldn't become one of those girls.

Maybe women like her mother would rather turn to the bottle for solutions but she refused to take the easy route again. She'd far too long let others dictate far too much of her life. This marked the beginning of where she took control. For the first time in so many years—Hermione knew exactly what to do.

With purposeful strides she went to her trunk and opened it, pulling out a pair of jeans, a warm shirt, a sweater, and a pair of combat boots—good for traversing through the woods. She shrugged out of her ruined dress - now a symbol of everything that was wrong, a reminder of an evening spent trying to be someone she was not - and she would never try to be someone else again. She slipped on her own clothing, careful to stuff her wand into the back pocket of her jeans. She plucked a bag from her trunk and began stuffing what she could in it. Many of the beautiful things she'd collected would have to stay behind as she wouldn't load herself with possessions she didn't need. She was vaguely aware of the pearls that still studded her hair and the minimal jewelry she wore now hidden under the sensible clothing, but there wasn't time to rid herself of that—she needed to depart in the utmost haste before her nerve left her.

For Hermione had heard them talking. Malfoy's father, as he was ushered past her in the aftermath of the Order destruction, simpering beside the Dark Lord as he assured him he would track the rebels. No one paid any mind to the nearly catatonic girl who sat clutching her knees on the bench while she awaited Harry and Sirius. A location had been muttered before a heavy mahogany door was slammed shut. Three simple words to shine her way. Hermione had a name, all she needed was a bit of luck.

As much as her heart broke to leave him, she had made her appeal and he had ignored it. At some point in her life, she needed to make a stand while she still had enough will left to make one. She brushed the wetness on her cheeks away and pulled her hood up over her ridiculous hair. Her eyes slid over to the third floor window, making a quick scan of the security wards. It was time to start a new chapter of her life—one in which she was the master of her own destiny. There was no room for regret, and there certainly was no looking back.

_Goodbye, Harry._

**~oOo*oOo~**

"What do you mean you fucked up, Draco?" Harry glanced at the blond wizard, who looked like he might have been hopped up on some of those potions he was keen on peddling, before casting his wary gaze on a red-faced Pansy who had clearly been crying. This alarmed him more so even than the suspicion of Draco imbuing—the Slytherin Ice Queen _never_ broke down in tears.

"Not _me_ ," Draco stressed, his expression perplexed. "It's my father. He was supposed to track them." His voice cracked on the last word, causing Harry to wince. "But he failed. Lost their trail somewhere in Muggle London and Apparated to the Forest of Dean but couldn't pick it up again."

Harry felt unsettled and anxious. This really was the last thing he needed to deal with. Most of them, save Harry himself, had been up twenty-four hours straight and it was clear a good night's rest was in order. Had he not been interrupted by this nonsense in his godfather's sitting room, Harry might have tried to explain himself further to Hermione, despite the need for sleep. He was completely shaken with the knowledge that she now knew his deepest secret. Of all the feelings, the strongest was relief—pure, unabashed relief. She knew, yet she was still here! Nothing else really mattered, it could all be sorted. She had initially startled him with the news she wanted to leave, run off and join the Order, but he had talked her down and bought himself time to convince her. Once he suggested an alternative solution which involved them fleeing Britain altogether, he was sure he could get her to agree. Besides, Hermione _never_ left him. She was his girl, always dutifully by his side. When Ronald had abandoned him when the going got tough, she remained. She never gave up, and she surely never gave up on him. So long as he could convince her joining to the Order was not a viable option for them, she wouldn't do it and it was as simple as that. Regardless, a serious discussion with Hermione was in order before she had a chance to overthink things, but it was becoming clear Draco was in trouble, and if he brought said trouble straight to Grimmauld Place, that could potentially prove to be a problem. As much as it pained him, he needed to force thoughts of Hermione and her inconveniently-timed discovery from his head and shift his mind to the next life or death situation. "I assume your father was tracking the Order—that's who he let slip away?"

"Merlin, can you manage to keep up?" Draco's eyes darted to the Floo, as if he expected them to ignite and Death Eaters to step out of their green flames at a moment's notice. "Yes, the bloody Order. He had a team of Snatchers - his best trackers! - but they lost them."

Pansy started sniffing again, and Harry worried she may start all out crying. He couldn't see her cry—not bloody Parkinson. It didn't help that Sirius was pacing behind them, staying uncharacteristically quiet. The unusual behavior of those around him combined with his earlier exchange with Hermione caused the feeling of unsettledness to intensify in his chest.

"I don't understand…" Harry's brows knitted together in concentration. "So they got away. The Order has evaded the Ministry for months, why should it be an issue now?"

"Because they've humiliated _Him_ ," Draco darted his gaze from one person to another, "He won't tolerate the embarrassment… the clear challenge to his authority. It's beyond insulting. There were ambassadors from other countries. The Dark Lord is in a frenzy." His voice dropped to a hushed whisper as if they could be heard. "Any failure at this point won't be met with mercy."

"So why did you come here?" Sirius bit out sharply, breaking his silence. "Why did you think it wise to invite his attention _here_? That's Lucius' mistake he has to deal with. How dare you involve us!"

Draco threw his hands in the air in utter defeat. "I had nowhere to go. Death Eaters arrived at my house. They grabbed my mother. Pansy and I were just sitting there waiting for any source of news when my mother screamed for us to run."

Harry rubbed at his temples, somehow forgetting all about the fact that he was a worldcrosser, the fact that Hermione now knew, and the simple and undisputed truth that these people were not _his friends_ and were merely dark incantations of people he once knew. No, in that moment all he could think was how the enigmatic and much younger looking Riddle had initially confused him into thinking he was better in this world, and maybe worth considering an allegiance with. But if Draco and Pansy were shaking in fear, and Sirius was reprimanding his second cousin for daring to seek asylum in his household, then clearly he'd been remiss to believe so. Maybe it had been an ill-advised decision to make a deal with him. The exhaustion Harry felt was near to draining him and certainly was impacting his ability to think straight. Too much had happened in too short a time. There was no way he could come up with a perfect solution for this colossal mess he found himself in.

"Sirius." Harry glanced up wearily, his tone beseeching. "They just want to be hidden. Can't we at least do that?"

"We can't," his godfather hissed. "We need to summon the Dark Lord and let him know they're here."

At this point, Pansy sobs turned hysterical. Harry couldn't take it. This was too much. How could he deal with yet another thing?

Harry twisted his shoulders and shook his head, meeting Draco's silver stare. "What do you want me to do?"

Draco's eyes flashed. "You said you weren't afraid of him. I believed you!"

Well, fuck. How wonderful. Harry did seem to remember making some boastful claim or another. It just had been Hermione on his mind when he'd said it. Thoughts of Hermione reminded him of her cutting words, delivered so softly, it was hard to know just how to react to them. _You and him have very much in common. I find you to be incapable of empathy and incredibly self-absorbed._ What would Hermione make of it if he turned Draco and Pansy away to fend for themselves? Luna was one thing, but _he knew_ Draco and Pansy. They were something like friends, in a very fucked up and twisted way. Despite their warped history, he felt a slight kinship towards them. Would Hermione stand by his side while he knocked off one friend after another? Well, of course she would, she was _Hermione_ after all, but he didn't much fancy her being angry with him. Perhaps he should consult with her, because the idea didn't sit well with him either.

Turning to Pansy, he spoke to her very softly. "Can you go see if Hermione's still up, and if so bring her down here? Maybe she can help us figure this out."

"Y-yes," Pansy stammered, rising from her seat, "I'll go see if she's still up… I don't want to wake her." She paused and turned to face him. "You know, I think she's actually rather smart." She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "She just hides it."

Harry sat back, a slow smile spreading on his face. "Yes, she is that. And try not to worry—we can at least hide you until morning and figure things out then."

"Harry!" Sirius snapped, looking as if he might pull his wand on Harry.

Harry ignored his godfather, trying to produce some kind of plan from his puzzled mind. Maybe they could get Draco and Pansy out of Britain? France couldn't be so very hard to escape to, and Draco and Pansy both spoke the language. If he remembered correctly, Draco's parents even had land holdings in France, though their assets could very well become frozen by the British Ministry. Still, surely Sirius and Harry had Galleons of their own they could spare. It would be easy enough to make sure they got a fresh start and left no trail in the process. There was no reason that Harry could see to betray another friend.

"It'll be alright, Sirius," Harry tried to comfort him around a yawn, "I promise we'll get it all sorted. You can just about keep a straight face under questioning, can't you?"

Sirius failed to rise to the playful jab, his somber countenance adding to the surrealness of the moment. A glance at Draco, who was staring off into space, let Harry know that he was the only one trying to make light of the situation.

"I'll probably never see them again, will I?" Draco murmured, so low Harry had to strain to hear. "My parents. That's it. They've been disgraced and now they'll be dealt with."

"It's the way things are." Sirius strode to the credenza and poured himself a glass from a crystal decanter. "Surely you know better by now."

"Does it really have to be that way, though?" Harry inquired, feeling a flare of bitter defiance sear down his spine. He wasn't sure where the feeling came from, but he was suddenly angry. The notion that he was helpless to do anything only made his resolve against such injustice burn hotter. "Maybe something should be done."

He felt two pairs of eyes drawn to him like magnets to metal, but he didn't shrink away from their scrutiny. Harry knew the two wizards were sizing up the statement he made, and the wizard who made it. Such words toed the line of treason and he really shouldn't be flirting with that line to begin with, what with the comfortable place he'd carved for himself and the perfect position he was in, but Hermione's words coupled with Draco's pleas mixed with Luna's cryptic message had affected him. So many times that night he had doubted his own decisions, only to talk himself back into believing he was right and now he was back to doubting again. Really, a good night's rest was what he needed.

Harry rallied against the direction of his traitorous thoughts, disgusted with himself and annoyed with his indecisiveness. That was the old Harry, the one easily manipulated by Dumbledore. He needed to hold steadfast in the path he chose. The new Harry was a survivor, and kept the ones he cared about alive and well. He didn't end up a lonely, decrepit cripple. Hermione needed him to be strong for them both. He couldn't go turning everything he worked so hard to build on its head. "I mean," his nostrils flared as his breath hastened, "you did put me in a shitty situation. I just earned so much credit for turning in Lovegood. If we do help, it can never come back to us."

"Of course," Draco assured him, but the man looked despondent and badly in need of comfort. Harry could not give it to him, however. He wouldn't break down and surrender to this _hero fate t_ hat seemed to haunt him in every chance at life he had. He refused to keep being the _savior_.

"Harry," the renewed urgency in Pansy's previously passive voice jolted his awareness. "She's gone."

"What?" He shot up from his seat. "What do you mean? She has to be here!"

Harry rushed to her room, eyes drawn instantly to the open windows and the blowing curtains. Mind rebelling against what his eyes were telling him, he collapsed on her bed and grabbed his head with both hands to tuck into his lap. _She couldn't leave him._ It was the one truth he could always rely on. Hermione would always be there for him, as he would for her. That was his one universal truth, but apparently the _universal truth_ was not so reliable after all. Suddenly, every word, every mannerism, every move she had made since they had returned to Grimmauld flashed through his mind. He was still in denial, aghast at the conclusions he'd drawn, but replaying it all in his head. Their exchange, at least on her part, all sort of looked like a last ditch appeal which tragically shifted into a goodbye. He had just been too thick to see it.

Sodding Hell.

She'd been telling him goodbye. She'd made her intentions clear and after he'd so abruptly dismissed them, even then she'd seemed to be waiting for something. Hermione wasted no time revealing everything to him. It wasn't in her to toy with him. The desire to join the Order and her concern over Harry, what was it? Not really seeing her?

_And when you looked at me you weren't seeing me—you saw her._

She needed confirmation and reassurance. She needed to know the truth.

He could sense them, first one and then another trickling in her room to stand around him as if waiting for his guidance on what they should do next. Harry didn't bloody well know! He didn't want to be their leader. He never asked for that!

"Do you think someone… grabbed her?" Draco asked, his voice stilted, but even Harry could sense the disbelief in his tone.

"No. I don't think that at all." He didn't look up. He hardly wanted to see them.

"Do you know where she might have gone?" Pansy asked.

He sighed, feeling like a thousand burdens rested on his shoulders. "I think she found herself a bit dazzled with the Order. Mentioned something about wanting to join them."

Sirius had the audacity to chuckle. "Willful witch." He sobered up and told Harry stoically, "I'm sorry. I know you had an unusual amount of affection for the girl."

Harry wanted to laugh at the madness of it all. Everything he'd tried so hard to accomplish - securing her safety had been priority number one - it had all been for nothing. In the end, he himself had pushed her away. He was his own worst enemy.

It was all too much. The knot of anxiety bubbled over, forcing Harry to shoot up from the bed. "Now what? You want us to fucking defect and join the Order? Oh, yes, hello, you probably saw me capture your friend who's likely enduring all manner of fucked up shit at the moment, but I do hope you'll let us in? You see, my friends and I have suddenly found ourselves on the run and I'm chasing my girlfriend to the ends of the earth. May we please join your club? Is that what you all want?"

"Most definitely _not_ ," Sirius scoffed loudly. "They wouldn't take any one of us. If she managed to find them, they'd take her, maybe, but us—not a chance in hell, I assure you."

"See?" Harry paced, folding his arms across his chest and nonverbally willing the blinds to shut against the light beginning to stream into the room.

"How do you know, Uncle?" There was a shrewd gleam in Draco's eyes, as if he were puzzling over a complicated spell. "I imagine they are a bit hard up for numbers."

Pansy said nothing, but only looked between them quietly whilst hugging her tattered dress.

Harry's eyes slid over the empty room, once more marveling at the fact that she'd left him. Hermione never left him!

But then, with startling realization… it occurred to him that Hermione was not Hermione.

At least not the one he knew.

No, in fact Harry had never been able to get close to the Hermione of his world in such an intimate way. He'd never had the chance. This Hermione was quieter—but still bold when she had cause to be. She was compassionate, and forever putting others before she put herself. She was thoughtful… understanding… forgiving. She was the perfect piece to the puzzle which had been missing from his life. There was a certain rightness he felt when their magic brushed that told him their souls were made for each other.

It hit him then, and he realized where exactly he errored.

He should have assured her. He should have told her that it was _her_ he cared for. He may have had an affection for the woman he'd been best friends with before, but the relationship never had the opportunity to blossom. Harry was guilty of using the knowledge of his departed best friend to his benefit when dealing with Hermione now, and that was a mistake on his part. They weren't interchangeable.

And if all she wanted was to join the damned Order, if that was what she wished for more than anything, then he should have done everything in his power to make it happen. Instead of being in her way, he should be there helping her in that very moment, worrying about how he would explain himself later. Her happiness was all that mattered and he'd lost sight of that in his misguided attempt to protect her. He should have bloody well realized how willful she could be once she set her mind to something and instead of trying to stop her, he should have been on her side. He messed up, and now it would take a miracle to fix it, if it wasn't beyond repair.

"Harry," Pansy whispered. "What do we do?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. His mind shifted, making a decision that equal parts frightened and invigorated him. "The way I see it—there's only one option left."

**~oOo*oOo~**


	19. Wandering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I keep getting these bad ass reviews trickling in and they've been making me want to update this story badly. Seriously guys—thank you SO MUCH. It's really helped me get a grasp on my muse reading all the awesome theories, critiques, or just lovely things you have to say. That coupled with the fact that WC fans have since nominated and voted on this story twice in the past three months and I really feel duty-bound here. A HUGE thanks to fans of this story for the nominations. It won "Best Epic Sized" in the 2018 Haven Awards and runner-up for "Creative Genius (Most Creative Plot)" in the 2018 Enchanted Awards. I appreciate the love to this story so much! This chapter super did not want to be written for whatever reason. Nevertheless, here it is and I do hope you enjoy it! Xx**
> 
> **All the beta love to the brilliant LeanaM!**
> 
> **A big thanks to trinnyboppers on Tumblr for the pretty edit!**

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Pacing in the Black family sitting room, Harry felt more clear-headed than ever—certainly more clear-headed than he should be feeling operating on as little sleep as he'd had.

He attributed the unusual sharpness to the Brain Elixir he'd just consumed. There wasn't time to rejuvenate his mind through the normal method of sleeping, or to join his godfather in his mission to drain another bottle of Ogden's Reserve—not when there was so much planning to be done. He only barely managed to contain the maelstrom of feelings that churned dark and insidious in his chest, and was only able to successfully shove it aside thanks to the rather loud bickering ricocheting through his brain. The last thing he needed was to dwell on where he'd gone wrong—he'd drive himself _mad._ When it all came down to it, it was clear he'd erred terribly in discarding… He couldn't even utter her name in his own mind… to do so was too painful. The point was, he knew where he messed up and he knew how he could fix it.

The weight of his mistakes was crushing enough. He felt every inch the selfish, cowardly man he'd been accused of becoming. The notion that he'd been so blinded by self-preservation and bitterness was hard to grapple with, as even now a small part of him regretted the way his plans had gone down in flames. Swallowing his pride enough to admit it was all his fault and the way he'd handled the situation was still extremely difficult. He'd grown pompous since his arrival to this dimension. He'd become embittered, from the war and being trapped in a marriage he despised with a disfigurement that repulsed him just as much as it did everyone else around him. When he'd suddenly found all those burdens lifted and all his problems obsolete, it fostered an attitude of pure selfishness fueled by obsession and his legendary Gryffindor determination. Add a splash of Slytherin cunning he'd picked up over the years, and Harry had indeed turned into the very type of person he'd always fought against.

The question was, did he keep trying to hide from his fate and continue trying to outmaneuver it, or did he surrender to his destiny once again?

It was hard to admit when he was wrong—his stubborn mind rallied against the mere idea. Yet if he continued in this direction of trying so blatantly to do the opposite from what he'd done in his old world, he would find himself alone, ruined, and scratching his head, wondering what happened.

Sort of like he was doing now.

There was a solution, but it wouldn't be easy by any means. He needed to search deep within himself and decide if he was willing to choose the hard path—the path where, once again, he was forced to place everything he held dear on the line. It was the path fraught with resistance, the one where a mistake meant he would lose _everything_. It was a path he'd grown to fear, whether he cared to admit it or not, but ignoring it was the reason for the gaping hole in his heart right now. Harry knew he needed to dig deep for that bravery he'd once been admired for. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost sight of it and he wasn't sure he would be able to find it again.

Was it really a choice, though? Failure was simply not an option. He simply couldn't lose… he stopped in his pacing and rifled a hand through his messy hair, unable to even face the possibility of what giving up right now would cost him.

Not again.

He couldn't… he _wouldn't_ … not again.

Before the overwhelming wretchedness from his thoughts could suffocate him, he wrenched himself from the stifling darkness of his mind and forced his attention on those in the room around him.

"Join the Order?" Sirius guffawed loudly. "Are you _mad_? Is my godson… my nephew… still residing in there somewhere?" He bent himself in half, knuckles white around the crystal glass he clenched, as he peered first at Draco who sat with his arm protectively around Pansy, and then looked up at Harry. "Have you both _vacated your senses_? I already explained why they wouldn't have us."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, meeting Sirius' piercing grey gaze unflinchingly. There was no room for doubt in front of these three, despite the storm that raged inside his mind.

"We don't have to join them." Pansy glanced between Harry and Sirius, her face twisted miserably. "It doesn't have to be one or the other—the Knights or the Order. We don't have to be present in this country to oppose the Dark Lord. There are other entities… foreign oppositions," she swallowed convulsively, "I've heard my father and his friends speaking about them."

Clenching his jaw, Harry thought about this carefully, the elixir providing a rush of clarity to his knackered mind. She had a point. It didn't have to be _either or._ There certainly must be another way to bring down Voldemort without crawling back to the Order and begging for sanctuary. Even though Voldemort appeared to be less well-known in this universe than he was in Harry's own, there had to be some rumor of his power and the influence he had over the British Ministry on an international level. Perhaps there were allies to be found among their foreign neighbors.

But no.

That was his self-preservation and pride talking again. He didn't want to appeal to the Order because he was _afraid_ \- on some level - of rejection. He was afraid to stand against his actions—to be judged and found _lacking_ … undeserving… and a poor candidate to receive _her_ —, well… to have the love he desired most. The glaring truth of that admission hit him with stark realisation. He'd made so many poor decisions since his arrival and it was very likely he would be judged harshly for them, but that shouldn't be the reason for him to choose the path of least resistance.

That was the old Harry.

Or the Harry he had become since arriving to this dark and mysterious world so different from his own. How many rebirths had he had since first discovering his fate as the Savior of the Wizarding World? He'd lost count, but it was time for another rebirth.

Time for the new Harry… the better Harry… the _real_ Harry.

This time, he needed to evolve into the man who had learned from his past and gained wisdom from his experiences. History was a teacher, and Harry was blessed with more chances than most. Surely if there was anyone who could find the perfect solution, it was him. He was determined to use everything he'd gleaned from both worlds and mold his mind into the calm and collected strategist he knew he could be—the one who could enact a daring plan unflinchingly, and wasn't afraid to face the difficult battles no matter how dark the outlook. _No._

"No," he said, aloud this time, "it's all or nothing. If there really are foreign leaders dissatisfied with our current leadership," he dipped his head in acknowledgement to Pansy, "they've likely already aligned with the Order anyway. Remember, everything we think we know about the Order should be questioned. We've clearly been misled. If we truly mean to stand against the Dark Lord and his Knights, the wise thing to do is to side with their strongest opposition."

"And if they won't take Death Eater _royalty_?" Sirius challenged.

A muscle twitched by Harry's eye as his stare darkened with determination. "Then we do as Pansy suggested, and help from the outside, only—we don't flee." His nostrils flared as a smirk curled around his lips. "We take decisive action against the Dark Lord's regime—active roles. We become silent accomplices with a common enemy until the Order sees we are serious about reforming."

"But they _will_ see we're serious." Draco leaned forward on his knees, dropping Pansy's hand on his lap. "We have a plan to make sure they give us fair consideration."

Harry watched the internal battle rage on his godfather's face. He could feel the man was faltering—it was clear in the subtle strain on his face.

"So you propose we trade in our manors for tents in the woods?" Sirius arched his brow in challenge. "Trade our wizard's robes for mangy rags? Trade our fine meals for whatever we can catch for ourselves? Trade Ogden's for Blishen's?"

Harry couldn't help chuckling at the genuine look of concern on his godfather's face over the matter of firewhisky.

"You propose we turn _turncoat_ and surrender to our enemies, the people your own father lost his life fighting against?"

Refusing to break eye contact, Harry answered readily. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

Sirius tossed his hands up in exasperation. "You're buggering mad—the lot of you." He took another deep sip from his glass, before teetering precariously. "What's this oh-so-clever-plan-of-yours, then?"

Exchanging a look with Draco, Harry once more turned to Sirius. "We break out Lovegood."

Sputtering into his glass, a bark of laughter peeled from Sirius' throat. "Is that all? You just caught the witch… now you want to break her out?" He shook his head in disbelief. "It might have been easy enough to give chase and corner the girl with a slew of the Dark Lord's best Knights at your heels for backup, but do you realize how difficult it'll be going against said Knights?" Sirius tightened his grip around the delicate crystal. "All this, just to chase after your _little strumpet_?" he hissed cruelly. "There are much easier ways to get a piece of arse, you know."

Harry flinched at his godfather's harsh reminder of just who he was missing right now. He didn't let himself dwell on… _her._ He couldn't keep his thoughts in order - even with all the Brain Elixirs in the world - if he let his mind wander _on her._ He did his best to ignore the jibe and push away his tumultuous thoughts and the overwhelming sense of loss in his heart.

Sirius swayed on his feet, and Harry realized he'd never seen his godfather quite so affected by drink. "I won't stand idly by—."

In a flash, Harry flicked his wand from its home in his sleeve and gripped it threateningly. "What will you do, old man?" Behind him, Draco and Pansy tensed.

Sirius bared his teeth, his eyes glassy and red, but made no move to grab his own wand.

"You've cared for no one in this world but my father, Lupin, and me," Harry seethed, clenching his jaw and his wand for good measure. "Now you would… what? Sell me out?"

For the first time, Harry saw a glimmer of despair crack through the mask of indignation Sirius clung to like a shield. "It's a _suicide mission_."

Harry quirked his brow in a manner he imagined his father might have done when he and Sirius were both young and mischievous. "All the best missions are."

"It does sound exciting," Draco added.

Sirius slammed his glass down on the table in exasperation and took a deep breath in an effort to steady himself. "I'm protecting you," he sought out Harry's gaze beseechingly, "as I always promised James I would, despite _whatever_ hurdles you might face. I've kept you safe from it all."

"I don't need your protection." He leveled his stare at the man he'd always looked up to. Sirius seemed to have shrunk a few inches, but Harry realized he was the one who'd become taller, something he didn't get to see in his old world. "I need your allegiance." His words echoed through the room, and Harry paused for a moment, conscious that he had chosen the path he would lead his friends down. "Once I disappear with Draco and Pansy, it will only incriminate you. You can either help us, fulfill the promise you made to my father _and protect us_ , or you can wait for them to come for you, drowning in your bottle like a coward, and believe me—they _will_ come for you. But if you join us and make sure the mission goes smoothly, you can hold your head up high." Harry felt a prickling in his mind, similar to the feeling he got when drinking Liquid Luck and he knew exactly what to add. "Be the hero I always thought you were."

Sirius seemed to pale at the words. He sat down heavily on the couch opposite of Draco and Pansy.

Draco sat forward earnestly. "It will be easy, Uncle. I know the dungeons well. There's a secret way inside. We can get Lovegood out and leave the manor unnoticed."

"And Looney—, I mean," Pansy ducked her head bashfully, "Luna will show us the way to the Order hideout."

Sirius pouted. "You have it all sorted, don't you?"

Harry let the tension drain from his shoulders and thrust his wand back into the quick-release under his coat sleeve. He sensed his godfather's surrender even before Sirius voiced it. The wizard would not allow Harry to run headfirst into danger without offering aid. Deep down, there was a glimmer of the Sirius Harry once knew. He saw it in the love and devotion in his godfather's gaze when he looked at him. Harry wasn't just some pet Sirius wished to mold in his own image—there was genuine love between the two of them that, if Harry couldn't quite recipricoate yet, he could certainly exploit.

"I suppose it would serve you lot well to have an adult supervise this nonsense." Sirius sat back and spread his arms over the edge of the sofa. "And it has been a while since I've had a proper fight."

"There's no need to fight," Pansy's brow furrowed worriedly, "the boys can get in and out without being seen."

Sirius shrugged. "Quite optimistic."

"Draco and I will grab Lovegood under the cover of the Cloak." Harry resumed his eager pacing. "You and Pansy will wait for us outside of the manor wards to back us up if things go wrong. Together, we Apparate to the Forest of Dean and convince Lovegood to take us the rest of the way." He paused, massaging his temples. "She's perceptive… she'll be able to see we honesty want to turn. If not, there are ways to convince her, but she's our ticket—without her there's no mission. I need to correct this mistake before…" he faltered and Draco exchanged a sympathetic glance with him, "before lasting damage is done."

Sirius appeared contemplative, and even his posture seemed to have sobered up. "There are some holes in the 'foolproof' plan of yours. It has potential, but we need time to suss out the details, and we can't do that here."

"Why not?" Pansy gnawed on her lip.

"Eventually, they _will_ come looking for you here. In fact, I'm surprised we haven't been happened upon by Knights even now. It's possible the Dark Lord is testing us, giving us the opportunity to turn Draco and Pansy in before he sends his men for them. At any rate, it's not safe to stay here."

Draco rose, his face contorted with rage mingled with fear. " _Now_ you tell us?"

Sirius shrugged. "I just joined… whatever this is… only a minute ago, didn't I?"

His nerves in a heightened frenzy of alertness, Harry once more brought out his wand. "We need to leave." Harry shot Sirius a derisive look. "Where do you suggest we go?"

The corner of Sirius's lips twisted in the beginnings of a smirk. "Pack a small bag with only the necessities and then we flee."

"And then we stage our attack tonight."

"No." Sirius' glare turned scolding on his godson. "One night's rest, at least. We can't hope to fight on no sleep with only alcohol and potions fueling us."

"But Lovegood—."

"Will be fine for the moment. Right now they are hot on the Order's trail. She'll be largely forgotten for a few days. We have some time to plan."

Harry felt his temper spike. " _Alright_ ," he grit out, "will you tell us where we're going, at the very least?"

"Is it a long journey?" Pansy said.

"No, we can Floo there. The place is under the Fidelius Charm and Harry's the Secret Keeper."

"I am?"

Draco's silver eyes widened. "Harry, _your_ manor."

Sirius grinned widely, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

_Potter Manor._

Harry swallowed hard. It was all coming together. He'd managed to convince his godfather, and Draco - of all people - had managed to convince _him_. Well, that and… _her_. Now it was time to put action to his words.

He was once again surrendering to fate, but he didn't much feel like a returning hero. No, this time, he was a repenting villain seeking forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Sirius sat rocking in his chair.

Well, not _his_ chair, exactly. It was Mr Potter - Fleamont Potter's - chair. And hanging above the flickering fire that burned in the white marble fireplace, purging the darkness from the room, was a large gold framed portrait covered by a tan sheet, its occupants fast asleep. He could even hear soft snores coming from the hidden portrait.

Mr and Mrs Potter.

Jamie's parents.

Sirius clutched his glass, disregarding the dust that had collected along the rim where his lips had touched it and not bothering to cast a cleaning charm. He just didn't have the energy? Will? , not in this place full of haunted laughs and the echoes triggering his memory. He'd spent so much time here as a kid - they _all_ had - and to be here now felt surreal, wrong even.

He was the only one left of their original group. Well, if he didn't count Peter, and Sirius never really counted Peter in anything. He'd always been a hanger-on, probably the reason why he was still alive when those far superior and far better than him _weren't_. Sirius deplored people like that—people that lived in such a constant fear of losing all that mattered to them, all they found comfortable, so they instead kept a low profile and did the bidding of others.

It was cowardly. It wasn't the Gryffindor way. It was no way to spend the short duration of one's life.

It was exactly the way Sirius was living his.

Sirius had become a second Peter.

Only Peters survived.

Those who were brave like Moony and Jamie simply didn't.

Sirius nursed his glass, feeling self-revulsion crawl up his throat. Sure, he didn't resemble Peter in the strictest sense of the words. Sirius was far more handsome, had a much more exciting life, and friends that would drop anything at a moment's notice just for the opportunity to party with him. He hadn't crawled to the Dark Lord and become his _errand boy_ just to make himself indispensable.

But he _had_ crawled to the Dark Lord.

He had pledged his allegiance. Despite his reputation of the charismatic and charming bachelor who was the life of the party, he knew when it was appropriate to play and just how much he could get away with. He knew the rules, and he had played by them perfectly. Until Harry had started asking questions, he hadn't even considered their existence for the longest time. They had just become a part of the way things were. Sirius prided himself in how effortlessly he'd raised Harry to follow the same set of rules without really noticing there were any rules to begin with.

That was the biggest delusion—making himself - and Harry - believe they were free in a world where life was confined to the small sphere of luxury the Dark Lord allotted them all.

They were permitted to mingle with foreigners, but they were watched. They could travel, but they couldn't go far. They were allowed friends, but if one was considered _unworthy_ everyone must turn their backs and forget about them. They indulged in every luxury the wizarding world had to offer and feasted so much they needed to purge themselves. In reality, they were nothing but glorified pets who all did the Dark Lord's bidding in one way or another.

And somehow, even though it had taken Sirius years to grasp the concept, Harry had seemed to figure out the game at the young age of seventeen.

How had he managed it? How, when Sirius had sheltered him so? Despite the - Sirius shivered at the forbidden thought - that terrible burden that he alone kept Harry safe from, the boy had lived the life of an unassuming Pureblood teenager who knew every luxury and was encouraged to participate in every indulgence that passed through his mind. So how then - regardless of Sirius' constant attention to raising Harry to embrace his every whim and desire - had he developed into this… _protective leader_ … this knowledgeable strategist whose speeches could galvanize a crowd? Where had it come from, and how had it developed overnight?

_Promise me, Padfoot… you have to promise me… Protect him… My only son… make sure he knows only a life of indulgence._

Sirius _had_ protected him. Of all the oaths he'd made in his life, that was the one he held sacred. He did everything he could to keep his promise to Jamie, even though it brought great risk on Sirius himself. He'd drawn on all the charm he could muster when facing the Dark Lord and flippantly informing him he was now the child's guardian. _Like it was nothing._ Like it wouldn't put his life under constant inspection to take in a Half-Blood. Sirius' own carefree attitude was the only reason the Dark Lord even granted the request. He thought Sirius naive, and incapable of taking a decisive stand against him.

 _And now look what I'm doing._ Sirius chuckled to himself quietly. It was supposed to be easy, Sirius had vowed to make it so. The easy way - the Peter way - kept you alive, didn't it? Sirius shrugged, and then nodded, as if to answer his own question.

Merlin, but he was sloshed if he was now talking back to himself.

Sirius had always lived by a code, so why after sixteen years was he discarding his precious set of rules? _It's the boy._ The thought of Harry made him smile fondly, even if he was a right pain in the arse. _He can be quite persuasive. Maybe he got that from me?_ He caught himself nodding again. _Jamie was never very good at convincing someone to do something. Blackmailing? Sure. Appealing to their affection for him? Of course. But urging someone to go against their better interests out of sheer persuasion? No, that's a skill learned from me._ His proud smile vanished though upon the realization that he hadn't used that particular skill in a long time.

Sirius snorted, his thoughts going from light to dark once more. He took another sip, just to take the edge off.

"You know…"

A voice jolted him from his private musings.

"I don't really see how sitting there staring at the wall constitutes as resting. I know these rooms are terribly dusty, but they're probably a lot more comfortable than what's waiting for us in the forest."

Sirius darted his gaze over to meet Harry's startling green ones—so much like his mother's, but his face was the spitting image of his father. "You should be sleeping."

"So should you." Harry sat on the edge of the old sofa, spreading his feet on the ground and staring pointedly.

"I find this… restful." He raised his glass in the air.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the glass as if it were personally offending him. "You may need your wits very shortly."

"What I need is liquid courage."

"Isn't a Gryffindor supposed to have courage in leaps and bounds?" He phrased the question lightly, his voice a carefree drawl, but Sirius still sensed his concern.

"I suppose it was my stubbornness, pride, and brashness that got me in Gryffindor, not my courage."

Harry pursed his lips, his expression contemplative. "Or maybe that's just the liquor talking." He leaned forward, and Sirius again was reminded of Jamie. It was in the way his bright eyes seemed to twinkle with mirth. Sirius felt like he was a boy again, starting on some big adventure with his best friend. "Maybe it's making you moody."

He could still do it. Sirius knew he could. If he really wanted to save his own arse and survive another twenty years in the opulence afforded to the Dark Lord's _pets_ , he could oust this plan and turn them all in. It would be the Peter thing to do, but more and more his thoughts were drawn to Moony and Jamie and how they'd been _his_ heroes.

Sirius set the glass down, a peace offering. His eyes wandered from Harry and back to the covered portrait of Fleamont and Euphemia. "Will you take it down?" He gestured to the picture. "The sheet, I mean. Don't you want to see your kin?"

Harry's eyes flicked to the portrait where the snores came from, then back to Sirius. "Maybe some other time. I don't fancy meeting distant relatives at the moment. Besides," Harry shrugged, looking down, "you're my kin. The only kin I've known."

And just like that, the last remaining itch to betray Harry vanished. There was no Moony or Jamie anymore—Sirius was the only surviving member of that trio. All Harry had was _Sirius_. It was _his_ turn to be the hero now—the one his godson looked up to. Something a lot like excitement sparked down his spine. Suddenly, Sirius didn't find the idea of fighting next to his godson so foreboding after all.

No, if anything, it was rather appealing.

"Come on, Harry." Sirius stood and placed a hand on his godson's shoulder. "Let's get you back to bed. I can use a power nap, myself."

Harry flashed him a smile that had Sirius feeling like he was sixteen again, about to get into all sorts of trouble, but it didn't matter because his best friend was by his side. _Sorry, Jamie. He's too much like you and even I couldn't stifle that side of him. Too much like you and maybe… a trifle bit like me, too._

**~oOo*oOo~**

It was cold.

A frigid, biting, frozen wind wound its way under her hood.

Hermione cast her sixth Warming Charm, but she wasn't even sure if it worked, she was that numb. Four days. She'd been searching in this arctic cold for four whole days, and she still found anything.

Her stomach was hollow and empty as she traversed over the deep snow. She made her way to a cover of trees where the snow was bound to be more shallow. The idea of taking one more step into the sinking snow that would crawl all the way up to her knees made tears escape her eyes, but they didn't get far, frozen in place as soon as they hit the icy air.

Surely Harry would know some trick, some spell, that would make it easier to travel through snow and stay warm whilst doing it. Maybe if she wracked her own brain she could think of something, but she couldn't summon the energy to try.

What had started as a powerful and invigorating journey had quickly morphed itself into a life or death situation. She'd considered Apparating to safety, somewhere friendly, or maybe even her mother's house, countless times in the past days, but she'd nearly splinched herself just getting to the Forest of Dean. Only her fierce determination to see this through and find the Order kept her from trying despite her poor aptitude for it. But now it seemed like such stubbornness was only going to get her killed.

Because, even though she didn't want to admit it in the sanctity of her own mind, she feared she no longer had the energy to perform Apparition.

She'd only just learned it, with Harry, and in secret without Hogwarts' explicit permission. She was of age, though, and she had successfully performed the spell the minimum three times via side-along, but they had only been short distances. Not only that, but it took a tremendous amount of focus and required a steady drain on her magic. If she tried to do it now, she doubted she could even sum the necessary magic to do it at all.

Perhaps her plan had been _too spontaneous_ —ill-advised and completely reckless.

Maybe it was silly of her to assert her independence now, after all this time of playing by the rules of others. She'd only been managing her life three short days - which felt like an eternity - and already she was mucking it up. It was entirely likely she could pass out from exhaustion at any moment and freeze to death in the snow. Would her body ever be found? Who even went this deep into the forest in the first place? Well, Order members she supposed, which of course would be perfectly ideal if only she could find one now.

Unless her fate was always meant to bring her here…

The idea of stopping and sitting under a nice, large tree was highly appealing. To die in such a fashion wouldn't even hurt, probably. It was definitely better than torture at the hands of dark wizards, or dying from a big, gaping hole through the heart, much like the one that burdened her currently. The numbness was actually quite comfortable in comparison. At first it had burned, that icy cold, when it took hold of her, but then the feeling started leaving her limbs, and soon all her body parts would follow. Her broken heart would be the last part of her to freeze over.

It was a merciful death.

Her step faltered.

It was an easy one.

Hermione's head lolled to the side as the cluster of trees seemed to stilt and blur in front of her. Gravity was rapidly leaving her, and all she wished to do was curl in a ball and _leave it all_ behind. To blessedly wipe clean the slate of her mind so her vindictive thoughts could no longer haunt her… taunt her… make her question her integrity and her decisions. That sickly voice that told her this was all her fault and what she deserved for leaving him when he had promised he'd gladly die protecting her.

Protecting her, or the girl who looked like her?

She wasn't quite sure who she was anymore. This had started off as a mission with one goal in mind—to find herself and prove herself _worthy_. Now it would end without so much as a peep in the night. There wouldn't be a sound when she fell onto the snow drift which trapped her legs. She'd be long dead by the time anyone found her.

No.

Hermione curled her hand into fists and dug her nails into her palms, relishing in the pain that lanced through the numbness.

She didn't come this far to simply give up.

Maybe she just needed nourishment. If only she'd raided Grimmauld's pantry before leaving instead of just packing clothes she no longer could feel herself carrying on her back. The last thing she'd eaten wasn't even at the ball. No, she'd only had alcohol there. She'd left on an empty stomach. At the end of the first day, she'd come on a rabbit and Stupefied it, before sitting against a rock and starting a fire. She'd skinned and roasted it on a stick, like she'd seen done on a Muggle movie once, using magic instead of a blade. She'd chewed most of the meat and saved the rest for later.

But she hadn't seen another rabbit since and even if she did, she didn't think she would have the energy to skin and roast it on a fire, much less kill it in the first place.

It hadn't occurred to her that it would take so long to discover the Order. She thought there would be some clear evidence, or trace of Light magic she could follow. Sort of like that silvery wisp she saw floating in between two trees she'd drawn closer to. A giddy spurt of laughter left her lips, and she cringed at the piercing sound disrupting the constant silence.

Unsure if she was following something real or merely delusions, she edged towards the wisp that seemed to be moving and lighting a trail in its wake. She couldn't feel her limbs anymore, but she saw her jean-clad legs, buried deep and wet from snow, begin to move. She hadn't lost her ability to walk… yet.

The first couple of days, she'd spent analyzing every aspect of her relationship with Harry. It was enough of a distraction that she hadn't realized just how far she'd wandered or just how perilous her situation had become until the third day. She dissected each and every detail she could recall to death, trying to determine if she'd made any false conclusions worthy of consideration.

But the thing with Harry was that everything seemed like it could mean _many things._

Everything was conjecture, and nothing could be determined decisively. The man was an enigma to her, and she wasn't sure what was genuine and what was not. She wasn't sure what things were said and done just for her, or if she'd unknowingly been an actress in a complicated act of role-playing expertly engineered by him. She didn't know, and she couldn't figure it out.

Sweet Circe, even her head was starting to go numb now. Her lashes were thickly frozen over and stiff. They felt heavy and so she closed them, stumbling. She lost sight of the wisp when she fell. Something bright and white exploded in front of her closed eyelids, but she couldn't see what it was, too tired to open her eyes again. Instead, she embraced the softness that enveloped her.

She was lost but everything was so beautiful from the snow to the trees to the stars in the sky. The silence of the woods was calming and she felt oddly peaceful given the circumstances. Large, fluffy snowflakes fell down on her, glowing bright in the moonlight. It was otherworldly and she was happy such a place would be her final resting spot.

Her hood had fallen open and for a moment, she saw herself as she lay there on the thick sheet of freshly powdered snow, arms spread open as if embracing her end. The longer she lay and the number she became, the further her soul seemed to hover from her body, still connected but only by a thread. She stared down at her body and the blue hue staining her cheeks. She looked sort of ethereal—angelic, even. The pearls from the ball still dotted her hair even though the majority of her hair had dislodged itself from her smart updo.

Hermione stared down fondly at her own body. At least she'd enjoyed a moment of happiness—some people didn't even get that, but she had! She got to know the affection and devotion of a man who cared desperately for her, even if it had all been under false pretenses. She still could say she _experienced it._ Maybe she never quite reached her full potential, and sure it was tragic, but such was life. At least in the last several months she could truly say she'd _lived_.

She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was staring up from her position on the ground, her eyes trained on the stars. Her soul felt anchored now, and she felt complete. A part of her regretted not achieving her final goal, but at least she would die trying. At least when she left this world, it would be with her integrity intact.

_I might not be as fierce as the witch I replaced, but I never gave up._

A smile spread across her face, even though she couldn't feel it, but the smile quickly turned into a frown when she saw the wooden spike hovering in the air above her head. Her eyes went cross as she focused on it, discerning that it wasn't merely a piece of wood, but _a wand_ , light in color like her own and it was pointing at her throat. Behind it, she could see a figure shrouded in darkness blurrily coming into focus.

"Get up, Granger," came the crisp demand.

The voice echoed in the silence of the snow-laden forest. It rang in her ears and she winced, the sound of words so unfamiliar to her.

"I… _can't_ ," she rasped dejectedly.

A sigh, and then a wave of the wand, and all of a sudden a spell flitted over her body, flooding her limbs with incredible warmth the likes of which she'd forgotten could exist. Hermione gasped in elation before the warmth evolved to burning as feeling gradually returned to her fingers and toes.

"It hurts!" She sat up, panting, clutching her chest and tearing at her collar. Her whole body began to shake with exhaustion and pain.

"It was necessary." The voice drew closer and so did the shadowy figure. "You caught a chill and the tips of your fingers are blue. So tell me, Granger," a face came into view, a girl with high cheekbones, wearing a black trench coat over a worn sweater and jeans. A beanie was pulled low over her expressive dark eyes, a black braid escaping at the nape of her neck and falling down the left side of her chest. "Did you come here to die?"

"C-Chang," her teeth chattered as she forced her body to stop shaking. "N-no. I came to join the Order."

"Lies!" Hawk-like eyes widened with rage. "I saw you… at the Ball. You were dancing with _them_. You were enjoying yourself."

The accusation lay heavily in the air.

Hermione exhaled a shaky breath, anchoring her hands in the snow so she could sit up straighter, and no longer fearing the cold. She'd prepared her speech many times, but all thought seemed to leave her when she needed it most. "I didn't have much of a choice," she grit out, feeling small underneath that dark stare. "I'm a Muggle-born. You know what Hogwarts is like."

Chang cocked her head, a light that wasn't the stars flickered by her side. Hermione glanced curiously at it, shocked to find Chang's corporal Patronus - a swan - hovering protectively by her side and a bit behind her. Small silvery wisps hovered beside it and she realized it was the source of the light she had followed.

"It didn't look like you were held against your will."

Her eyes flashed with shame, but Cho stared on, unmoved. "There's no excuse… I acted cowardly… but I didn't know about the Order… the propaganda the Ministry feeds us," Hermione threaded her fingers through the snow uselessly, trying in vain to plead her case. "The point is, I know now, and I want to join you. I don't care about the risks, or if the Knights are stronger, or if the Order is on the run and fleeing for its life… I want to be there— _fighting_."

Something like cold, hard appraisal flicked through Chang's dark eyes before her face became unreadable once more. "I don't know," she shrugged one shoulder carelessly, "maybe you mean it, maybe you don't. Either way, it's not up to me."

Hermione felt a flicker of relief sear through her, followed quickly by trepidation.

"Get up," came the harsh demand, "and hand over your wand."

Hastily, she clamored to her feet and complied.

"Oh, and Granger?" Chang snatched the wand and thrust it somewhere in her coat. "If she finds you lacking, you do realise you won't be returning to your precious Death Eaters?"

Hermione nodded tremulously.

"If you're lacking, _you die_."

**~oOo*oOo~**

****


	20. The Manor

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Trepidation welled in Harry's chest as he walked quietly alongside Draco under the Invisibility Cloak.

To finally be at Draco's manor after Sirius' insistence that they rest before any rescue were attempted initially brought Harry profound relief. But now that they were actually here and the plan was in motion, he was disturbed to note a tendril of dread had weedled its way in between the excitement.

There was no place for it, and Harry could not suppress the irritation flaring through him as a result. He was quite used to finding himself on dangerous missions and— truth be told— _actually lived_ for the accompanying adrenaline rush. He had approached such things without an ounce of fear— dauntless— in the past. He could only blame his recent bout of unsettling hesitance on the cold, single-minded focus he'd set on Hermione.

He was rusty.

Having grown accustomed to playing a part so effortlessly, it now went against his nature to dredge up his old thirst for adventure. It was the only explanation for feeling something as crippling as _dread_ , though he supposed a healthy dose of wariness would not serve him wrong. Still, being an Auror it sort of went with the job description that one needed to be somewhat fearless and numb to threats of imminent death. It was no way to face an assignment, especially given any hesitance could prove fatal.

Harry resolved to reawaken his senses, calling upon his magic and allowing it to flood through him until all of his senses were on high alert. Beside him, Draco matched his steps and walked with Harry silently. Harry could only wonder what the blond was feeling under such dire circumstances and with no sign of his parents. What had happened to the Malfoys? Had Voldemort shown leniency or had he exacted his justice without mercy? What was left of Harry's jaded and twisted heart went out to Draco. If anyone knew what it was like to lose their parents, it was Harry. Somehow, regardless of the universe, he always found himself orphaned.

His thoughts drifted to Pansy and Sirius, who even now were waiting on the outskirts of Malfoy Manor, carefully away from the stringent wards. They'd worked tirelessly that morning to come up with an escape plan. Sirius and Draco were pivotal in outlining Malfoy grounds and finding the swiftest path to the dungeons where they hoped Luna was imprisoned. There was some talk of Draco simply Apparating them to the location straight away, but Pansy brought up the concern that the wards may have been tampered with, and such an arrival might be noticed ,if not expected. The only path left was to Apparate just outside of the wards, and navigate the grounds on foot whilst using the Cloak to conceal them.

Since the Cloak was not large enough to cover the four of them, Harry and Draco were tasked to breach Malfoy Manor unnoticed. Once inside, they could locate Luna and sneak her out before anyone knew they were even there. Should they run into obstacles along the way, Sirius and Pansy could break through the wards to back them up. But either he or Draco needed to reunite Luna back with the Order.

Pansy had wondered how any of them could possibly hope to convince Luna of taking them to the Order's hideout, but Harry decided to worry about that when the time came. He would do whatever it took to gain her trust. So long as they were successful and he had the opportunity to correct his error, that was all that mattered to him. Luna was their ticket, and without her they had no hope of tracking down the Order, much less joining it.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Harry frowned when he again noted the feeling of dread surfacing… circling… and taunting him along with the other unsettling feelings dominating his mind. There was so much that could go wrong. What if Luna wasn't there at all? What if she was, but she wasn't alone? It was very possible one of the Knights could be torturing her at that very moment. It was why Harry had refused Sirius' advice that they wait another day or so to figure out the best course of action. Luna could be running out of time. What if she were in no state to show them the way to the Order? Excessive torture could wreck her brains, making the mission obsolete. And of course, Harry would be to blame.

It was now or never, they had no time to waste.

Harry's hopes of finding the manor unsecured were rapidly dashed. Yaxley was guarding the verandah entrance, but he and Draco managed to walk past him without rousing the Death Eater's attention. Harry didn't even dare draw a breath until they were safely in the corridor. His heart sank even more when they navigated around the east gallery and they saw a flickering light coming from the parlor. Someone was in there, perhaps several unwelcome faces, and the need to keep themselves hidden rose considerably, right along with the stakes. They needed to pass by the parlor to make it to the the dungeon stairwell.

Harry breathed slowly and steadily through his nose, determined to stay quiet even as he craned his neck when they passed by the open doorway. His curiosity was piqued, and he wished badly to know just who it was they'd be fighting against should things go south. Unfortunately, Draco was as eager to see who occupied the parlor as Harry, and that would be their first hiccup of the night.

Perched on top of a small table was Bellatrix herself, the fearsome witch twirling her wand absently. Behind her stood Greyback— tall and menacing— his face twisted in an angry snarl. But it was not either of those two Death Eaters that brought Harry to pause, but rather the slight witch who lay hovering in a body bind just in front of the large hearth, her body slowly turning as little flares of wispy, blue magic shot to life over her skin—wrapping her in a tight grip of magic and effectively caging her.

Never in his memory had Harry seen the witch in such a state. Usually Narcissa's appearance was impeccable, with not a hair out of place. The way she looked now, it was clear the past forty-eight hours had been Hell for her. Her dress robes were in shambles and her hair in a state of disarray. If not for the body bind, Harry imagined Narcissa would be twitching from the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Beside him, Draco stiffened.

Too appalled and in shock to notice what his partner was doing, Harry was too slow to react and failed to hold Draco back as he lurched from under the Invisibility Cloak and ran to his mother, hand clenched tightly around his wand.

 _Fuck!_ Harry took a step after him before remembering himself and freezing on the spot.

"Mother!" Draco ran past the two Death Eaters and it was only their initial surprise that allowed him to make it so far.

They recovered quickly, however, and Draco was stopped just short of reaching Narcissa, an agonizing scream piercing the silence as he fell to the floor.

Harry winced at the sound, his wand hand itching to come to his friend's aid, but he was distressingly outnumbered. He couldn't do as Draco had done and run headfirst into danger with no plan whatsoever. Draco and Narcissa would be no help and he didn't know how many other Knights guarded the manor. They'd neglected to take complete stock of their surroundings in favor of making a quick entry.

"Draco," Bellatrix crooned, sauntering up to her nephew slowly, her black eyes wide with delight. "How did you manage to sneak inside unnoticed?"

The curse was lifted temporarily, and Draco rolled to the side, gripping his abdomen.

Bellatrix nodded to Greyback who moved to guard the parlor entry, nostrils flaring as he appeared to be testing the air for more intruders. Harry quickly stepped inside before the hulking man blocked his path completely, then cursed internally. Now he was trapped, and did he want to be? Perhaps he should take this distraction as an opportunity to get Luna and run. The mission was of the utmost importance. It wasn't his fault that Draco broke cover! The snakey bastard was more rash than Harry ever had been.

Greyback shifted from foot to foot, and Harry eyed the small space to the side of the Death Eater, calculating his best time to escape and battling his torn emotions. What would Sirius and Pansy have to say if Harry showed up without Draco? Sure, he would have Luna, but to leave behind someone so important to all of them? He wasn't sure they'd be able to accept that exchange. He wasn't sure he could. He gnawed on his lip as he struggled to make a decision.

"What was that, dear nephew?" The witch stretched her wand, and a dark, angry curse slashed through the air, colliding with the blonde wizard who lay writhing on the floor. "I asked you a question. How did you get inside, hmm?" Her expression was playful and her eyes contained barely suppressed glee. Harry was reminded of the Bellatrix from his time, despite how much more put together this version of Bellatrix was. "Come all this way for mummy, have you? How touching."

Draco stumbled for words, and Harry was struck by the strange role-reversal of the situation. He could remember a time where there was another witch trained at the end of Bellatrix's wand and he and Ron were desperately planning their rescue. "Let her go," he rasped, his eyes hard and unrelenting despite the red, hot pain. "She's _your sister_."

Bellatrix laughed, the sound echoing inside the room. "Don't be delusional." Her head snapped to where Harry stood and for one heart-stopping moment he thought he'd been discovered. "Fenir, tell Corbin to Floo to the Ministry. The Dark Lord will be _so pleased_ that our wayward Draco has found his way home."

Greyback gave a swift nod and left the room.

Harry stood frozen to the spot. Should he run now that his path was completely clear, or face off with Bellatrix? His rational side told him not to rush in and help, that it would be far wiser to stay the course, but his instincts rallied against the cowardly way out.

In the end, Draco's screams made the decision for him.

"That really was quite stupid of you." Bellatrix circled him, her wand trained on him as she swooped down to pick up his. Some of the mischief had left her face. "You shouldn't have run. Perhaps He would have been more merciful."

Maybe Bellatrix cared about her nephew more than she let on in front of her fellow Knight. Maybe there was more Bellatrix left in this witch, than in the one from the universe he came from. But then how could she leave her sister bound and hovering in her own parlor? Did she only feel regret, but nothing else? There was fire in her eyes, so what held her back from coming to their aid? No, regardless of which way he sliced it, Bellatrix was a foe in this world just as she was in the last. She wouldn't curse her nephew and rush to turn him and her sister in unless she was fully in with the Knights.

"Who helped you?" She had dropped the girlish voice she seemed so fond of using when she questioned her victims, and only sharp inquisitiveness remained. "I know you couldn't have come on your own. You aren't that daft. Round up some school chums, did you?" A sizzling hot spell swooped out of her wand and collided with her nephew, causing Malfoy to let out a pained groan.

_Fuck it._

Without pausing to think things through like he just resolved he would do, Harry swished off the Cloak and tucked it swiftly in his robes as he strode confidently towards Bellatrix.

Her head whipped around, her gaze hardening as she broke the curse on Draco to train her wand on her surprise guest. "Harry?" Her brow lifted quizzically, and he registered mild shock on her face.

"Auntie," he greeted, holding his hands in the air slightly to show he was unarmed. "I'm the one you should thank." A lie rapidly formed on his tongue. He jerked his head towards Draco's supine form. "He came crawling to my home and I lured him here—back to you."

Her eyes quickly slid over Draco, whom Harry was happy to see had got a brief reprieve from the deadly witch's curses. "Did you now?" Her face twisted in an expression that could only be described as skeptical.

"That's right." Harry stepped further into the room, pointedly ignoring Draco lest he display even an inkling of the horror he felt to Bellatrix. "I brought him to you because he came sniffling for help, like the pathetic wizard he is, if you could even call him one."

Bellatrix studied Harry shrewdly and he tried his damndest not to shrink in front of her stare. "Awfully ambitious of you."

"Please, Aunt Bellatrix…" Draco croaked, and Harry tried not to flinch as a result. "Doesn't family mean anything to you?"

"Family?" She scoffed loudly, disbelief painted all over her face. " _Toujours pur_ ," she sneered disdainfully. "Would that my family wasn't rife with failures. Like your cowardly father, for example. The man can't even manage to protect his own flesh and blood. I always warned Cissy he was _weak_."

Behind her, an anguished moan escaped Narcissa's lips.

 _Not so different,_ Harry inwardly chanted. _It's hardly different from how it was before._ He'd played this game. He'd come out on the winning side. He could and _would_ prevail again. So long as he remembered—there were subtle differences, but these were the same people when it came right down to it, just shaped by different circumstances.

"Speaking of family," her lips curled into a smirk. "Where is my _beloved cousin_?" Her brows lifted challengingly as she turned to address Harry. "I doubt very much he'd let you have _all the fun_ without him."

The challenge lay heavily in the air and before Harry could coat his mouth with saliva and hope to answer the witch, footsteps echoed behind him. He spun around to see Percy Weasley entering the parlor, dusting Floo powder off of his Ministry emblazoned robes and flanked by Fernir. The former Hogwarts prefect startled upon seeing Harry, but quickly schooled his surprise and narrowed his eyes before addressing Bellatrix. "The Malfoy traitor and Potter to boot. Impressive, Lady Lestrange."

 _Lady Lestrange._ Harry found the title somewhat jarring, but he supposed the shift in between universes would prompt the victors to pass out titles among each other.

Bellatrix scoffed loudly. "I don't need praise from the likes of you."

Percy bristled.

"You're just a messenger boy. And now tell me—has the Dark Lord received my message?"

"I was unable to relay your message," Percy said through gritted teeth. "The Dark Lord isn't at the Ministry."

Bellatrix's dark eyes narrowed. "I find that hard to believe given _our plans_ ," she said cryptically. Harry's brain worked frantically to guess at just what plans she was referring to. "And why are you so delighted to find Harry here, hm? He's done nothing wrong."

Harry was surprised by the vote of confidence from his aunt, since she'd just questioned him quite fiercely. He was even more surprised by the unabashed hatred in Percy's eyes when he spared Harry a glance. "He happens to be responsible for a most malicious attack on my brother, and—."

"Ah, I see," Bellatrix interrupted, the gleam returning to her black gaze. "Spurned you, has he? Can't say I'm surprised. The Weasleys do have a habit of producing _disappointments_."

Percy tore his stare away from Harry and glared angrily back at Bellatrix. "Need I remind you who my brothers are? Fred and George have produced a variety of inventions upon the Dark Lord's demand. Charles is one of our Lord's brightest, most exceptional soldiers—."

"And what of the other one, William, was it?"

Percy visibly seethed at the second interruption and the mention of his oldest brother. It was clear to Harry that this version of Percy was used to being groveled to, not mocked.

"Certainly not so much of a success story there, is he?" Bellatrix's lips curled up in satisfaction when her statement rendered Percy silent. "Arthur's all too lucky to have some of his offspring prove useful."

"There's always a bad apple," Percy relented, seeming to have somewhat recuperated from Bellatrix's verbal lashing. "And as I was saying before—Potter's unnecessary attack on my brother isn't the least of his crimes. I happen to know he hasn't been answering his _summons_. The Dark Lord is not pleased."

"You slimy git." Harry could no longer stay silent and let his name be dragged in the mud. Percy's eyes narrowed to slits at the insult but Harry held his piercing stare. "Has _poor Ronald_ run home to daddy to tattle on me? Is that why you're conniving to bring up these ridiculous charges?" He didn't know what _answering a summons_ meant, but he figured it was best to deny it rather than play dumb.

Bellatrix seemed satisfied with this answer. "There, you see? All fabrication, like I suspected."

"The two Aurors who came to his godfather's home reported him missing, him _and_ _Lord Black,_ as well." Percy smirked maliciously at this bit of information. "They both failed to come when called."

Looking up sharply, Bellatrix pierced Harry with a searching look, her prior glee transforming seamlessly into rage. "Is that true, Harry?"

Okay. Scratch the former plan. Maybe playing dumb was all he had. "Summons…" he frowned in mock confusion, "what does that mean, auntie? How will I know if I'm being summoned?"

"You'll feel a pull on your magic. _You'll know_ ," she answered definitively.

 _Shit._ How had he not felt it? Was he too numb to feel anything? How had Sirius failed to warn him, or felt it himself? He wondered if the man had drunk himself to oblivion enough times over the past two days that he would hardly feel anything at all. "Perhaps," he started uneasily, attempting to appear sheepish, "I missed a summons or two. It's all still so new… this Knight business."

Percy pounced. "Everyone knows Malfoy is his _best friend._ If anyone were to help the traitor, it would be Potter. Talk about families with bad apples —his line is riddled with them."

Bellatrix appraised him in such a way that had Harry shifting uncomfortably. There was a curious, almost _hungry_ look in her eyes and Harry did not like it one bit.

"Wouldn't be surprised if he corrupted his uncle too," Percy drove on, looking to all the world as proud as a strutting hippogriff. "It would explain Lord Black's absence in all this."

Bellatrix whirled. "You would accuse _my cousin_ of treachery, Weasel? Your pride and joy of a brother is nothing more than a glorified soldier following orders. My cousin is a _bloody general_." Her voice rose shrilly and Percy flinched away. "How dare you?"

Channeling her fury, Harry whipped out his wand and trained it at the now cowering Weasley, relishing in the comforting feel of the familiar willow wood. "First you insult me, then my godfather? You go too far, Weasley."

He'd much prefer siding with Bellatrix to get out of this horrible mess than the alternative of standing against her. Harry didn't doubt his own prowess, but his supposed aunt was a fearsome witch and he'd really _rather not._

Percy backed up hastily, his eyes shooting between them wide and panicky.

Harry grinned viciously at the man's clear unease. Apparently the Weasleys were quite a force on the Death Eater side, which was too mad a concept for his adrenaline-fueled mind to make sense of. Well, all except _William_ who Harry assumed had to be referring to Bill. He hoped against hope that Bill was working with the Order, against his family's wishes.

It was becoming clearer each day that the Order was not as useless as the Ministry made it seem. Bill would be an exceptional addition. The wizard reminded Harry of Remus in a way, and wouldn't it be nice to deal with someone as calm and clear-headed as his favorite DADA professor?

He didn't know the comfort of Remus' friendship in this warped and twisted world— though he hardly knew if Remus would be a friend or foe had he remained in the realm of the living— but at least he'd gathered the information that Bill might be a viable option should he chance upon him in the future.

Oh, the hubris.

Harry didn't have a future.

To his utter horror, Greyback would see to that.

"The Weasley doesn't lie," said the gruff wizard guarding the doorway. "Two of my Wereguard have reported to me directly. The Potter-whelp and his kin haven't answered a single summons, nor have they been at the Black ancestral home. The Ministry believes them to be _on the run_."

Harry swallowed convulsively before he could help himself.

He felt the wave of Bellatrix's dark, angry magic before its effects. Instantly, his wand was ripped from his grip. He could have stopped it, had he not made the split-second decision to _let her_. His innocence game was the only game he had, outnumbered as he was.

"Where's Sirius?" she asked, voice deathly chilly. "Where's that Parkinson-bint? She's been missing too. We can only assume she fled with Draco."

Harry was about to deliver an Oscar-worthy answer, when suddenly his knees buckled underneath him and he slid to the floor. Shear determination kept him from screaming out in pure agony. That bitch had jinxed him! And just when he was beginning to warm up to her, too. It wasn't the Cruciatus, because Harry could still process what she was saying and he believed his mouth could form answers to her probing questions if he tried. It must be a curse of her own creation.

"She's his girlfriend, yes?"

 _A test_ , he warned himself. _She's only testing you. Stay in character!_ Even though it wasn't as excruciating as the Cruciatus— likely selected only so she could continue interrogating him— he still found himself hard-pressed to keep his cover under the onslaught of pain.

"She used to be yours, didn't she, this _Pansy_ ," Bellatrix continued as if discussing something as inconsequential as the weather. "Before you started playing in filth, that is."

Harry saw red at the derogatory reference to Hermione.

Percy and Greyback looked on impassively, and Harry tried hard to remember everything he was supposed to be holding onto. It was a tough feat, when every instinct screamed at him to dismiss her curse and _fight_.

"Is that the reason, Harry?" Sinister green sparks flew from the tip of her wand. "Has the _Mudblood filth_ tainted you? Is that where your real allegiance lies?"

His mind jerked in rebellion against her sadistic words. _Fuck you, Bellatrix Lestrange. Aunt or no aunt._ He saw there was no winning to be had. His only chance would indeed be to fight. There were three of _them_ … in the immediate vicinity, anyway. And there were three on _his side._ Though Narcissa was hardly worth counting. Even Malfoy seemed to be of no use to him, though part of Harry wondered if it was all an act. Regardless of the constantly shifting variables, he wandlessly and nonverbally summoned his wand, a charm he had mastered in seventh year, and quickly stood against the strength of her expertly wielded curse, conjuring a strong shield charm to render it ineffective.

"You're mistaken, _dear Aunt Bella._ " he stepped sideways and dropped into a defensive pose. "I'm not used to how it works, that's all."

Bellatrix smiled widely, displaying two rows of perfectly, pearly white teeth and chose to ignore the threat of his duelling stance. "Simple—you come when your Master calls like a good boy. We all have roles to play. That's yours. That's all yours will _ever_ be."

Harry rebelled against such a notion with a visible jerk. Hadn't he spent the first half of the school year vowing to _not_ repeat his past and fall into the role of a hero? Yet at the very first threat of that option being stripped from him, the need to fight against the overwhelming odds he faced was so strong, it devastated him to imagine any other path. "Master?" he queried, voice deathly low. "I don't have a _master_ ," he sneered, dropping all pretenses of the perfect Pureblood he was trying to be. "You'd do well to remember." And without warning, he threw a strong jinx at the witch.

She parried the blow, but not without stumbling backward. Her eyes glowed with the promise of retribution. "You Gryffindor children are _so bold_ , aren't you? Living up to house expectations." As he backed his attack with a stunning spell, the witch flicked her wand and a bright, golden light ricocheted through the room, causing him to step back when it shimmered through him. It felt like a wave of pure energy, and before Harry could wonder at the unknown spell's origin, he heard cries in the distance.

She'd alerted her back-up.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"Think you're in a position to give orders?" Giddy laughter escaped her lips, but it was the sound of echoing footsteps that made him cringe. "As if you were wizard enough."

His eyes quickly scanned the parlor. He saw a bound and still hovering Narcissa Malfoy, her son still clutching his stomach and rolled onto his side. How could Harry grab them both, grab Luna, and get out of there alive? The odds were against him. Especially when Knights started spilling into the room at an alarming rate.

Bellatrix swiftly disarmed him, and he was left with no choice but to let her. He only had himself… against _ten Knights_? He wasn't that stupid.

"Your mother, now there was a witch," Bellatrix went on, gleefully noticing the resigned expression on his face. "Tripping and trapping your father like it were nothing." The way she circled him reminded him of the basilisk's winding movements. He was well and truly her prey. "We all warned _poor James._ Why sully yourself with a Mudblood, when you might have the purest of witches? But your father didn't like adhering to orders… it's why he made such a horrible Knight… it's why _he died._ Perhaps if he'd listened to the sage advice of his _very best friends_ he'd still be here today, and you wouldn't be such a failure."

Rage boiled to the surface as a result of her incessant taunting. How dare she insult his father! He wasn't even _Harry's_ father, in the strictest sense, but that did nothing to temper his rage. He was acutely aware aware of Knights closing in on him, and wondered if he could don the Cloak and make a run for it. Better to stay alive another day and come up with a better plan than die right then and there or worse—be tortured.

Bellatrix's Numbness Curse put any hopes of escape to rest.

The searing, white light hit him squarely in the chest and just as he was about to gear up in protest, the most horrifying sensation clamped down on his body with an unrelenting grip.

"Don't be daft, boy," he heard her say, her voice floating around him as if from some distant place. "You know better… I know you do."

Everything went utterly black. Dark as night inside the recesses of his mind. He felt like he was being compressed into nothingness. He couldn't feel… couldn't see… couldn't smell… couldn't _breathe._ He just couldn't. He was being closed into some infinitely small space and there was _nothing else._ The nothingness caused him to panic even more than the lack of feeling. Just as he thought he might go mad, the feeling vanished and he was left drained of every ounce of energy he'd formerly possessed.

A voice wafted into his ears… inside his head. "Poor, ickle Harry." The voice circled around him… through him. He felt largely disconnected from reality. Was he hovering? Feeling gradually returned, but none of it made sense. "I'm very surprised with you… very surprised indeed. What to do with you? My _favorite_ nephew." Her presence ebbed, but never quite left him as he lost a few seconds, minutes, hours? When he came to, it was as if the voice had never left him. "Could it be the Mudblood's influence?" Desperately, he reached out for some semblance of reality and control over his precarious situation, but it eluded him. "I do wonder."

With those words, he finally lost himself to the darkness.

**~oOo*oOo~**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thoughts? Was Draco too rash? Remember, his character is a little different based on the difference in the world he's grown up in. Harry is fumbling to keep up with all the changes. What do you think of Bellatrix? How do you think they'll get out of this one? If you're still with me, see you next week for the conclusion of this chapter Xx**


	21. Interlude in the Dungeons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I know some of you wanted Harry to kick ass last chapter. I do think he would have been able to fight it out and escape the Death Eaters, despite if he was outnumbered. He had a few tricks up his sleeve. I do not, however, think he would have been able to escape while still grabbing (3?) injured people along the way. There would have been fatalities and he would have had to pick and choose or leave someone behind which he wasn't ready to do at that point. Allowing himself to be captured and biding his time was a smarter plan on his part.  
>  Remember, though he defeated Voldy in his world and had rigorous Auror training, he still failed against Lestrange. And though he's vowed to learn from that mistake, he's since had very limited (but super promising!) dueling xp in this universe. He doesn't know what effect crossing worlds and merging bodies has done to his magical essence but he suspects it has changed. The Ron duels and shielding Riddle coupled with showing Hermione some pretty tricks have really not tested him thus far. It stands to reason he'd be wary. And really, so much needs to happen in this portion of the plot. Interactions are important, as I'm sure you already know by this point. Some of your predictions have been spot on, but I haven't heard a few of my plans ousted yet in the reviews and that excites me! Much love and back to the meaty chapters (depending on when I get it back from my beta!) next week C:**
> 
> **Thank you LeanaM for all your beta help!**

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Where in the _ever-loving-fuck_ could they be?" Sirius raged, causing Pansy to flinch beside him. "We've been here for three hours… three hours! That's long enough for anyone to slip in and out." He stroked his chin with slightly trembling fingers.

Sirius had been on edge since the boys had left them and was now beyond distressed. How many times had he considered walking right through the front door and finding out for himself what was going on? His nephew and his godson… they might need him! What good was he to anyone crouched just outside the Malfoy wards like a bloody coward? He was no good to _anyone._

"Give them some time," the shivering witch cautioned, and he realised he'd dropped his hold on the Warming Charm… yet again. "It might be tricky to make their way to the dungeon without being heard. They could be lying in wait… or spying."

His lips twisted distastefully. "This isn't a mission for gathering entail. We're here to get the prisoner and get out. We're working against time here, or have they forgotten?"

He was aware of the agitation laced in his voice. He'd had nothing to drink that day—not even one blessed sip of firewhisky. Harry had hinted about it before, and Sirius did not like for anyone to think he harbored weaknesses. He bloody well _did not._ But now he couldn't stop tapping his fingers on his trousers or pulling at his hair. His thoughts were in shambles and why shouldn't he take a drink to calm his nerves? _Sod it all._ He needed it just to feel a semblance of normality at this point.

Reaching into his robes, his fingers wrapped around the familiar metal flask. He popped the cap with practiced ease and dipped the flask down to his mouth, relishing in the familiar burn that slid down his throat.

That was better.

Now he could think clearly. More clearly than before, anyway. The uneasy feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach hadn't subsided in the slightest. Every instinct told him something was off.

"We give them another fifteen minutes," he said, eyes trained dead on ahead on the manor, which somehow looked more foreboding tonight than Sirius ever recalled it looking in his memories, certainly in his fond memories as a boy. "Then we go in."

Pansy bit her lip. "Wouldn't we just be giving ourselves away? The minute we step over those wards—they'll _know_."

"We'll cast Disillusionment Charms," he declared recklessly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

He was met by several seconds of silence before Pansy spoke again, staring at him oddly. "I'll admit I don't know much about Death Eaters, but even Professor Carrow's trained us students to look for something so basic as a Disillusionment Charm. I hardly think that will suffice when they sense the wards have been tampered with."

"It'll have to." He set his mouth in a grim line. "We can't let them have at it alone, now can we?"

"No."

"Exactly. Let's just hope if it comes to that we can elude them long enough to get to their side, and if that's not enough… maybe it'll be the distraction they need."

Pansy nodded and Sirius kept his gaze straight ahead. Just a few more minutes, and then nothing could keep him from tearing past those wards.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry awoke to a cool hand touching his forehead disorientated and not having the slightest clue where he was.

His heart lurched and lodged in his throat. The girl peering down at him had dirty blonde hair, appearing even more dirty and tangled against her face—a face covered in dark smudges and streaks of dirt. He lifted his fingers to adjust his glasses before remembering he no longer wore them. _Get a grip!_ The answer came to him more slowly than he would have liked. The Malfoy dungeons. He let his hand fall back to the cold ground, intending for the gesture to be inconspicuous but was startled by the resounding thud that echoed in his ears.

His body _ached._

Even the slightest movement made him aware of the painful soreness in his muscles. He hardly had control over his movements as he usually did. He sat up slowly, hoping to recognize the girl once he was sitting upright. He rubbed his eyes and stared at her again.

Incredulous, his eyes widened in surprise. " _Davis_?"

Not the blonde he was expecting.

The Slytherin witch eyed him warily. "You haven't called me Davis since first year, Harry." She arched a brow, somehow managing to look regal despite her raggedy appearance. "Funny way to address an ex-girlfriend."

Sodding hell.

"Sorry, Tracey," he amended. "Wait… _we dated_?"

A slight blush stained her cheeks, but she still managed to hold her rimrod posture. "Yes, well, I realize it was way back … in fourth year… when we'd all just started… that sort of thing, but yes, I mean—you did ask me to be your girlfriend so I would think that constitutes dating." She blushed even brighter when she realized she was rambling.

Merlin, just how many witches had his doppleganger shagged, or dated? Clearly the man had had a Slytherin-kink. He really needed to be more careful… he _really_ needed to stop slipping. "Erm… sorry." He grinned sheepishly and that action seemed to put her more on edge. "I'm a bit… disorientated."

"What are you doing here?"

"Yes," another voice chimed in, and his head snapped round to see Luna staring blankly at him, looking worse for wear but not in as bad a state as he had imagined. Kicking himself for not checking their cell for other occupants sooner, he scanned the room and was relieved to find Draco, sitting up against the wall with his eyes closed. "What _are_ you doing here?"

"Luna?" He was initially relieved to recognize her pale hair and pixie-like features, but now he felt anxiousness and even shame. He was the reason she was here, after all. "I'm glad you're safe," he finished lamely.

Tracey scoffed. "She's _Luna_ but I'm _Davis_?"

Harry registered a flash of suspicion pass through her eyes. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ He really messed that up, didn't he? Why didn't he just announce to the world that he was an imposter?

"You are acting different, aren't you?"

"Give him a break, would you?" Draco's eyes snapped open, but he kept his head pressed against the wall. So he wasn't sleeping… probably in just as much pain as Harry, if not more and every slight movement caused distress. "He was hit with a nasty curse."

"Well that's just it, isn't it?" Tracey drew a breath closer and Luna followed the movement, though not without causing a raw, scraping noise to assault his ears. Chains. They were all chained, each by one wrist, and allowed little movement. "Why would your beloved aunt curse you," she darted her glance between Harry and Draco, "curse you both, and throw you in the dungeon like a common prisoner?"

"Careful, Tracey," Luna edged as close as she could to the other witch, as if she meant to protect her, "the wrackspurts are flooding to him." Her head gave sporadic twitch, and Harry's stomach twisted at the blatant evidence of the Cruciatus Curse.

Draco glanced between them with a stricken look on his face, probably from Luna's _very Luna_ remark. Tracey pressed her eyes closed and exhaled a deep breath. Luna never let her suspicious gaze drop, but though she was looking at _him,_ upon closer inspection she appeared to be looking _around_ him. For the first time, Harry felt as if he actually did have invisible creatures hovering around his head.

"Why are you here?" Tracey asked again, determination flaring hotly in her eyes. Harry imagined if she had a wand, it would be trained on him. "Tell us now."

"We're here to rescue you," Draco saved him from answering. "But it would appear we now find ourselves in need of rescue."

"Bull shit." Tracey's jaw tightened.

Harry swallowed, wincing as the motion jolted his parched throat. "It's true," Harry found his voice, "and if someone hadn't blown their cover," he paused to shoot Draco a withering stare. Oh, how he would be having a chat with the troublesome Slytherin when this was all over, "we might have been successful, too."

"She's my mother." Draco's eyes blazed with defiance. "I can't have just done _nothing._ "

"Yes, I know, but there are better ways than simply rushing right in." Harry could sympathize with his friend, but Draco's brash actions had cost them. If only they'd had a moment's time to strategize!

"I had to try didn't I? Now I see it's hopeless."

"We did have to pay a high price for the knowledge."

"What's he talking about?" Luna raised her brows curiously.

"It doesn't matter," Tracey interrupted before Harry or Draco could answer. "It's clearly a trap. Conjured by Lady Lestrange herself, if I have any guess."

"It's not," Harry argued. "I know what it looks like," his eyes appraised them both beseechingly, "but it isn't that way, I promise."

"Why would two _Pureblood Princes_ want to help a couple Order witches, hm? What's in it for you?"

 _Order witches?_ That's right. Harry did seem to remember Hermione mentioning something where Davis was concerned. But was it confirmed? He didn't remember, but his eyes told him it was true. Tracey and Luna appeared to be willing to jump in front of a spell for each other.

"We want to defect, you _twit_." Draco's glare intensified in the face of their disbelief. "The Dark Lord's taken my father and mother, just because my father _failed him._ "

"Last we heard, you were both inducted in the Knights," came Tracey's rapid reply.

"I meant to Owl you my congratulations," Luna said in her whimsical lilt, "but I was otherwise occupied."

"Look," Harry put his hands up, "I'd take a wizard's vow... or an Unbreakable Vow. Be questioned under Legilimency… Veritaserum… _whatever_. I'm not here to trick you. We genuinely want to help."

Tracey's fierce expression faltered in the face of all his promises. If she had her wand, Harry imagined she would lower it. "Well… it doesn't very much matter now, does it? We're all stuck here, just the same."

Luna nodded in agreement. "No one makes it out of Malfoy Manor. Not ever."

Harry snorted in disbelief. "I don't buy that." He looked to Draco for support, but his friend's previous heated look had cooled to reluctant acceptance. "Come on, guys," he studied each one of his fellow prisoners, hoping there was some fight left in them yet. "There are _four of us_. Surely we can come up with something?"

Discovering Luna and Tracey both alive changed the game. Bringing them to the Order was a huge peace offering. Harry's desire to join the Order intensified tenfold. Sure he'd fucked up— _royally_ —but bringing them two captured witches should be enough to earn him _some_ forgiveness. He had to get back to Hermione. Everything else he was doing was pointless so long as he was kept separated from her.

"There were more before," Luna told him stoically.

"Yes," Tracey's voice caught, "they killed them. Killed the groundskeeper. Killed that shopkeeper from Diagon Alley just for peddling potions to the Order. Binns, that foreign dignitary. We're only alive so long as they believe we can be useful. There's no getting out of here. There's no getting out of these chains."

Oh yes, the chains.

Were there anti-magic wards placed on the dungeon? Harry called upon his magic and could barely suppress a grin as it crackled around him in a comforting wave of raw energy. No, magic was not off limits here. He imagined their guards thought leaving them wandless would be enough to secure them. Or more accurately, they wanted to use magic themselves inside these walls. Harry grit his teeth at the dark thought.

Letting his eyes flutter shut, he flexed his magic to the perimeter of the dungeon… up to the heavily warded entrance… to the walls… searching for some alternative way out. He already knew there wouldn't be. Draco had told him so and his magic confirmed it. The only way out was by the same route they came in. Harry allowed his magic to graze against the ward, wincing as it sizzled and repelled his magic.

"What's he doing?" came Tracey's voice.

"He's using magic," Luna's tone was awestruck. "The wrackspurts are going mad."

A healthier distance away, he let his magic investigate the complicated wards in place, a muscle twitching by his eye as he searched in vain for a weak spot. There was none to be had. If he meant to break through a ward wandless, it would need to be something much more simple than _that._ The ward boasted of many complex layers of magically coded Runes. Whoever constructed it must be a genius. Perhaps he could breach one, maybe, maybe not. But so many? It was hopeless.

"We can't get through the wards," he grit out. "Even if I had a wand, they're some of the most complicated wards I've ever seen."

"I already told you that," Draco retorted impatiently.

"You don't need to tell him," Tracey pierced Harry with an irritated stare, "it's sort of a well known fact? This dungeon is one of the most secure places in the world, but I'm glad your magic is _so useful_ for something."

"He really was using magic," Luna shot him a look, "I guess to check the wards."

"Like I said." Harry tried to cross his arms over his chest, but did so awkwardly given his restrictions.

"Plenty good your _wandless magic_ can do us here," Tracey quipped.

His magic cracked angrily as his temper spiked. Was she insinuating his magic was useless? He'd show her useless. He already felt much better after calling upon his magic, as if it had healed him to a degree. It certainly invigorated him. He could handle simple spellwork. Summoning a wave of energy unique to him, he channeled the power into the spell he wished to cast, smirking as he felt the chain shackling his right wrist first burn, then disappear.

Luna gasped and pointed. "He's Vanished them!"

Tracey opened her mouth and closed it, looking very much like a fish. His smirk widened and he advanced on her, finding it easier to Vanish first her chain, then Luna, then Draco's, than it had been to Vanish his own.

His smug mood was short-lived however, because just as soon as he'd performed the last spell, Tracey launched herself at him, tackling him to the hard, stone floor.

"Sodding hell," Harry groaned. "Get your hands off me!"

Rather than remove her hands, the infuriating witch wrapped them around his neck so it was impossible to say anything. Harry gripped her surprisingly strong hands with his own, mentally debating the best way to remove her without hurting her. He couldn't hurt Tracey, he needed her! He needed them both. He made no move to counteract her attack other than lessening her grip on his neck. Eyes trained on hers, he let her see the truth of his words.

"What the fuck is your problem, you crazy bint?" Draco ran up, pushing Luna aside so he could grab and yank Tracey by the shoulder. "The man's trying to save your life."

Surprisingly, Tracey allowed herself to be pulled away, but she didn't take her eyes off Harry. "Save my life?" She mimicked cruelly. "Was that cheap trick supposed to gain our trust?"

Harry had hoped it would.

She chuckled darkly. "I'm sure that was all part of the plan to get us to trust you. Capture my best friend. Divulge the hideout and take you and all the Knights watching you straight to the place they've been trying to get to for years." She hugged her arms around her chest, looking like a witch resigned to her fate. "I'm not falling for it. I happen to know you, _Harry._ You're a cruel, selfish boy who cares about no one but himself. You won't win my trust so easily."

He flinched at her words… familiar words he'd heard from another witch recently.

"It wasn't a cheap trick," he sat up and rubbed his neck, "it was me trying to get us all the bloody hell out of here." He crossed his ankles and glared at her. "I do want you to take us to the Order," he glanced at Luna, "I want you both to take us. What happened at the party… that was a mistake… one I'm sorry for… one I promise I can explain so long as you give me a chance."

"Bloody manipulative sod," Tracey added. "It's a wonder you weren't sorted into Slytherin."

Luna appeared to be on another train of thought entirely. "How did you do that spell, Harry? You were always good at Charms, but I never saw you perform wandless magic before."

"So long as his wandless magic can't get us out of here, I don't very much care."

Harry ignored Tracey and turned to Luna. "Just practice, that's all. I can teach you. I _want_ to teach you. Draco and I both—we want to help the Order."

Tracey sighed. "Help us escape, and then we can talk."

"Harry," Draco edged closer. "You know there's no way out of here… and _my mother._ " His friend looked desperate and it yanked on Harry's heart strings. "I know it's hopeless, but…"

"We can try again," Harry placated. "But this time we'd have to consider a plan."

Draco nodded sullenly.

Tracey's eyes scanned back and forth between them shrewdly. "Did I miss the part about how we're getting out of here?"

Harry stood and paced, running through every possible scenario he could manage. Apparently Malfoy Manor was the new Gringotts in this world, but he'd escaped high-security places before. If only he had a dragon here…

He paused as an idea came to him, his face lighting up. But would such a route work this time around?

Whipping out the cloak he'd hastily tucked away with a flourish, he thrust it out to the girls.

Tracey eyed it dubious as if she expected it to bite her, but Luna took hold of it straight away.

"Is that a Invisibility Cloak?" she said even as she ran her fingers over the shimmering material. "A real one?"

"Of course," he drawled. "And we can fit two, maybe three people under it. Not even Knights can see through its magic. You'd be relatively safe."

"Can it pass through wards?" Tracey asked suspiciously.

"No."

"Then I don't see how—."

"Draco, do you still have that house-elf?"

Draco frowned. "What?" His brows lifted in confusion. "You mean Dobby?" His expression cleared as the meaning of Harry's question dawned on him.

"Oh Merlin, you really do have him? Then perhaps we can reason with him. I know he wouldn't—."

"Whoa, Harry," Draco interrupted, "Interesting notion, but he won't be able to act against Aunt Bellatrix's orders. She'll have seen to that."

"You're still his owner, right?"

"His?" Draco peered at him strangely. "If you mean the elf, then yes, to a degree, but I won't be able to trump a direct order. Don't you think I'd have tried if I could?"

"You don't need to counter her order." Harry's excitement flared. "You just need to summon him."

"Harry, I don't see where you're going with this," Tracey trailed off uncertainly, looking at him as if he'd lost it.

Luna eyed him thoughtfully, and he suspected she had an inkling about what he was about to do. He supposed she always was the clever one, regardless of the universe.

Smiling widely and no doubt looking quite as mad as they all thought him to be, he motioned to Draco. "Take off your sock."

Draco's eyes widened comically. "You want me to do _what_?"

**~oOo*oOo~**


	22. Hello, Sirius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Hey guys! I really wanted to post before I go on vay-cay here in a couple of days. I'm super stoked because I get to meet a fandom friend at Universal. I definitely plan on hanging out in HP land for as long as possible - the whole time - preferably! This chapter is really heavy on the action and definitely brings us to a turning point. I'm fairly happy with it and excited for what comes next. Please know I'll steal away any time I can to work on the next one. Didn't make a ton of progress on that Age of Potter entry, but I'm going with Regency harmony and I'll for sure have something to contribute. Check out my Pinterest if you want to see the manip-teaser! They're so cute! Especially all angsty and in another era. Enjoy Xx_ **
> 
> **_Thank you LeanaM for the awesome beta C:_ **

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Dobby is sorry he cannot help Master Draco."

The elf didn't look very sorry. If anything, Harry detected a hint of smugness. For a moment, he feared his plan may not work the way he hoped. Steeling himself against disappointment should his plan fail, he nudged Draco roughly in the side.

"Ow!" The blond growled, shooting daggers at Harry. "Alright, alright." He turned to Dobby. "Er… Dobby?" He thrust forward the sock, the elf peering at it dubiously. "I want you to have this."

Harry poked him harder.

"And… er… I want to apologize for my behavior."

Beside him, he could feel the girls gaping at the strange scene.

"You know," Draco hazarded awkwardly, "for treating you the way I have and all that. I hope this will make amends." When the elf made no move to accept the piece of clothing Draco pushed his hand forward again, his tone laced with irritation. "Here. Take it."

Stoically and with a shell-shocked expression on his face, Dobby accepted the sock and turned it over slowly in his nimble fingers. "Dobby doesn't understand. Master wishes to free Dobby?"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Clearly— _yes_."

"Dobby is… a free elf?"

Harry stepped in to answer before Draco could insult or scare the elf. "You're free Dobby. You deserve to be free." He didn't care if his words sounded manipulative to the others. He had to make this work. "You no longer have to obey orders. You can choose where you will go and… whom you wish to help."

The elf's already wide eyes widened fractionally more. "Dobby is… _grateful_ to mas—, to Draco Malfoy and his friend—to Harry Potter!"

Harry favored him with a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"You should be," Draco said with a hint of a sneer. "You've no idea how expensive it is to get a house-elf, only to lose it."

" _Shut up_ ," Harry hissed under his breath.

"Dobby?" Luna knelt down so she was eye level with the elf. "Now that you've got your newfound freedom, and I must say— it's about time— what will you do with it?"

Dobby appeared to ponder the question for one tense moment, causing Harry to shift anxiously. "Dobby's never thought about what he would do without a master, miss."

"There'll be plenty of time to think of something," Harry said, his voice friendly. "You can visit any place you wish to, visit your friends."

"Dobby doesn't have any friends."

"I'll be your friend, Dobby."

Luna nodded. "And so will I."

Dobby glanced from one, then to the other. "A wizard and a witch want to be friends with Dobby?" He looked down for a moment before looking between them once more, joy etched on his features. "You honor Dobby!"

"I'm glad." Harry swallowed and wracked his brain quickly for a way best to phrase his request. He sadly didn't have the luxury of building a trust and friendship with the little creature as he had in his other life. There was no choice but to speed up the friendship factor and persuade Dobby at all costs. "And now that we're friends, perhaps you would do something for us?"

Draco smirked. "Friends help friends, Dobby."

Tracey stood uncharacteristically silent during the exchange, with her arms folded across her chest, doubt scrawled across her face.

Luna rushed to interrupt them. "You see, you have a lot in common with us."

"Dobby has a lot in common with… _wizards_?" He did not appear convinced.

"That's right." Luna kept her tone light and gentle. "You were trapped in a way, held against your will, and that's not so very different from us."

"We're also held prisoner here," Harry explained, pointing to the ceiling. "They're keeping us locked away."

Dobby frowned. "The mean, scary lady?"

"Yes!" Luna nodded again. "The 'mean scary lady' has captured us and you see… we would love nothing more than to escape… nothing more than to be free, like you!"

Harry held his breath, watching Dobby with a bounding sense of trepidation as the elf appeared to mull over this bit of information. He didn't know how different Dobby's life had been, or how similar. From the bandages on his fingers, Harry leaned more towards similar. The elf could very well have little faith in what wizards told him, though Harry hoped that by extending this kindness he could achieve the same result as before.

Dobby set his jaw and gazed at them with defiance blazing in his huge eyes. "Dobby wants to help his new friends." He set the sock on his ear like a badge of honor and it perched jauntily to the side. "Dobby thinks he will be a good friend."

Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Harry side in relief and shoved his hands in his hair. Tracey shot him a suspicious look, but he ignored it. He launched himself in a _Auror mode_ , barking out instructions whilst still remembering to keep his tone light and friendly.

Whatever doubt lingered, quickly vanished when Dobby was able to successfully Apparate first Tracey and Luna, then Harry and Draco just outside the dungeon entrance. The elf appeared to revel in the praise and thanks he received from the former captives and Harry imagined if an elf could blush, Dobby would be doing so at that moment.

For the first time, Draco seemed to breathe easier. "Yes, yes," he said dismissively, "that's all well and good but we haven't time to waste. Now get us out of the manor, not just the dungeons, and come back for my mother once we're safely outside the wards."

Dobby's smile dropped when he heard Draco's abrupt tone and Harry felt the stairwell get colder. "Draco Malfoy does not wish to be Dobby's friend. He wants to _use_ Dobby." Then the creature turned his rapidly sharpening stare on all of them. "Maybe you all do."

Dobby brought up his fingers as he prepared to step into Apparition, but Harry halted him.

"No, that's not it at all." He shot Draco a withering glare. "That's just how _he_ is to everyone, not just you. We _do_ want to be friends. I promise."

"He's right," Luna agreed, desperation filling her eyes. "You're our friend Dobby. But we won't be safe until we're out of this manor, that's all."

Dobby made a flippant gesture with his shoulders, and the rags he wore shifted over his slight frame. "Maybe you aren't lying to Dobby… maybe you are." Wide eyes narrowed. "Dobby has helped you and it still isn't enough. Dobby doesn't have to listen to master or his friends anymore… Dobby has no master!"

Before Harry could lurch forward and stop him, the elf vanished.

He cursed and spun on Draco. "Now you've done it. You were supposed to charm him, not be your usual disparaging-self."

"Sh!" Draco hissed. "There's no point arguing about it now. We're in danger. The only thing we need to be doing is see how many of us can fit under that Cloak."

The cloak wouldn't cover more than three, and even then someones legs were always showing. Harry could only hope his wandless magic would be a match for anyone they might encounter on the way.

"The three of you can go." Harry sighed in defeat. "I'll stand guard. If we run into someone, it will be me they see, not you. I can distract them."

"That's awfully generous of you," Tracey said with a hint of sarcasm. "Or maybe this is all part of your elaborate plan to trap us. This plan was a bust if we can't leave the manor."

"Maybe so," he retorted, " but what choice do you have?"

"He's right," Luna came to his rescue, calm as ever. "This is the only chance we have. We have to see where it leads."

"Why does Draco need to guard us?" Tracey was still unconvinced.

Draco visibly seethed. "Must you be so _bloody difficult_?"

Harry ignored him, plunging on. "Draco knows where to meet up with our back-up. How else will you get there?"

Tracey gasped. "You never mentioned back-up!"

Hadn't he? Admittedly, it was the last thing on his mind. It would be a miracle if he could get these three out. Sirius might very well be forced to come to their aid.

"You didn't, Potter." Luna's expression darkened with worry.

Harry's retort died on his tongue at the sound of heels clicking on the polished wood. He recognized that sound and knew exactly who was drawing near. _Shit_! He gazed at Tracey and Luna beseechingly. Features hardened, he saw the moment they decided to relent, if just temporarily. Hastily, Draco threw the Cloak over them and Harry saw glimpses of their legs as they adjusted the material in a futile effort to cover them.

Harry pulled his eyes away as he pondered his own fate.

He was wandless, but if there was even the slight possibility Bellatrix still carried his wand, he was sure he could Summon it when she drew close enough. He'd already done it once. And with the element of surprise and the fact that he was no longer playing at innocence, he could really fight like his life depended on it and blast his way through the wards.

It was his only option.

Clenching his fists, his eyes roved over the stairs, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A slight movement to his left confirmed his fellow captives' departure. But he could not be found alone at the bottom of the stairs, cornered and with his back to the wall. That position was far too vulnerable. Summoning his magic, he let it pour over him, feeling immediately calmer and more focused as his adrenaline soared.

Taking a deep breath, he bounded up the stairs in a full run, twitching his fingers as he geared up to cast a spell that would either save or condemn him.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The last thing Sirius expected to see was his cousin's house elf popping into being just outside of the wards. His sharp intake of breath alerted the creature to his presence, it's head snapping up in surprise, his massive eyes widening upon discovering Sirius and Pansy. Before Sirius could summon him, a surprisingly haughty expression flickered over its face and it vanished a second later, failing to even offer its services before leaving.

"What _the fuck_?" he asked Pansy over his shoulder.

She shrugged, clearly as puzzled as he was and Sirius spent the next few agonizing minutes wondering just what the elf had been up to. Had it been sent to spy? Would it report their whereabouts to whoever was guarding the manor? Could he summon it back and force it to do his bidding?

The apparition of the house elf stalled his initial plan, making him more wary to just barge in, but his unease increased every minute. Just when he was about to say _sod it all_ and rush towards the Manor to find out what was going on, something else drew his attention.

He tensed when he saw a pair— or was it two?— of shoes moving towards them with no body attached. Instantly he recognized the magic of the Invisibility Cloak and for a moment his anxiety subsided. Finally they were back. Sure enough, seconds later his nephew whipped off the Cloak and stood shouldering the weight of not one, but two witches.

Two witches that looked worse for wear. Order witches, no doubt.

The disdain he usually felt towards anything Order-related was slow to come to him. The girls looked at him, then Pansy, then him again, disgust in their eyes. He hardly paid their reaction any mind, only grateful that they were there and not as dead as he had imagined them all to be. He was about to laugh in relief when he noticed the absence of his godson.

He stiffened, drawing his wand immediately. "Where's Harry?"

Before Draco could answer, their attention was drawn to the manor where a resounding explosion jolted the silence of the night. His eyes snapped to the dark building, where spell after spell lit up the opulent windows on the ground floor in rapid succession.

He supposed that answered his question.

"For fuck's sake, tell me you didn't leave him to _fend for himself_?" He peered at Draco, not comforted in the least by the way the newcomers shifted uneasily..

This was not good, not good at all.

"Draco?" Pansy inquired, her voice hollow.

The wizard slid his eyes to the ground and swallowed, but when he spoke his voice was hard. "We weren't armed, the Cloak barely covered the three of us. Harry offered to… _distract_ them." When he looked up, his steely grey eyes glimmered with determination. "We couldn't even get my mother, that blasted house-elf—."

His nephew's explanation sent Sirius' brain in a tailspin and suddenly nothing else mattered but getting to Harry and getting to him quickly. He stopped Draco with a wave of his hand. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter." He gestured to Pansy. "She has a wand and the four of you will have to manage." He trained his eyes ahead, grey eyes stormy and swimming with fierce protection. "I'm going to get my godson."

"No! Sirius wait—."

Without stopping to heed Draco's warning, he transformed into his Animagus form and launched himself past Malfoy wards, sending a golden ripple through the air as he triggered them.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry's wand sprung into his outstretched fingers as a result of his wandless Summoning Spell, but he didn't stop to celebrate as he dodged behind a divian, popped back up, and cast a _Confringo_ in the direction of Bellatrix and Greyback.

He fell back, low to the ground as Bellatrix's answering _Defensio_ purged the darkness. His attention was focused squarely on his next spell. Ordering his magic into the wood of his wand, he bolted upright and shot a powerful _Expulso_ at the witch and her henchman, only just managing to evade a series of red, hot cutting hexes sizzling angrily towards him.

They were followed in short order by a silent, dark purple curse. Sensing the dark magic that clung to the curse, he summoned a strong Shield Charm, and stumbled back when her curse impacted it, but it failed to so much as cause a fissure on the surface. Smirking he shifted his focus on them, relieved to see he was only squaring off with the two of them… for now.

"Ickle Harry," she crooned, sauntering closer. "You've managed to surprise me. Well done."

Harry saw Greyback slowly circling around Bellatrix and making his way towards him. Dropping his shield, he cast a hasty jinx which promptly blasted a large bookcase from the wall and sent it tumbling over the massive werewolf. His shield was back up in less than a second, right before her menacing blue curse collided with it, rebounding in a stream of light she was forced to dodge.

" _Harry_ ," she clucked her tongue and shook her head, "how did you escape?" she bit out sharply, "how did you get past the ward?"

 _Wouldn't you like to know?_ He nearly taunted her with.

His shield withstood her attacks without issue, and he took a brief reprieve from her hexes, pressing his eyes closed and letting his magic get a feel for the wards that trapped him. If only he could Apparate! Then this nightmare would be over and he could shift his attention to the next life-threatening situation that was bound to meet him. The wards were as strong and fortified as the complex composition binding the dungeons. There were layers and layers to break through, but Harry detected something distinctly familiar about them.

Bellatrix stopped mid-curse to appraise her nephew, and he could feel her dark eyes sweep over him, itching him as they crawled over his skin. "Are we just going to throw up shields all day? Didn't your godfather teach you the proper way to duel? Be a good lad and duel me like you're proud of your pedigree."

"Aunt Bella," he greeted, washing his face in impassiveness, "I would thank you for your gracious accommodations only I found them decidedly lacking."

Bellatrix did not let her up her attack, sending curse after curse at his shield and managing to produce tiny fissures in its surface.

She seethed and he smirked in the face of her frustration, only to flinch a moment later when a wave of her magic collided with his shield, sliding up against it… _examining it_. He clenched his fist around his wand and reached for his magic once more, drawing comfort and strength from the familiar energy. The time for toying with each other was over. He'd distracted Greyback for a moment, possibly even injured the hulking beast, and it was time to end her before more threats arrived.

Dropping his shield, he slashed his wand through the air and forced his magic to comply to his will. Sensing the game had change, Bellatrix answered his call readily, dismissing his curse before launching a hex his way. He tried to watch her wand pattern, as they both neglected to name the curses they were casting, but soon gave in to his instinct and he was hardly cognizant of the spells even he summoned.

Adrenaline rushed to his temples as he gave himself over to his dueling instincts, relishing in the rush of power that welled through him each time he charged a curse. This was nothing like a Hogwarts-sanctioned duel, or even like the duel he'd participated in with Weasley. This was pure, raw, dueling between two powerful magic-wielders who knew how to cast as instinctively as they knew how to breathe. Brilliant color sprouted out of the tips of their wands, constantly shifting from one spell to the next.

She was fierce, but so was he.

The rubble of the bookcase moved suddenly. He grit his teeth. Greyback was not as injured as Harry had hoped. Soon he would need to deal with that threat as well, but for now his spells were for Bellatrix alone.

Traces of dark magic crackled around him, tinting the air, and seducing him. Nostrils flaring at the heady pull of power, he gave into his desires and ordered curses and hexes he normally wouldn't. He justified his actions as he had in those battles long ago, the ones where his very life was on the line and the lives of so many others, except he hadn't been as well-versed in dark curses then as he was now. He hadn't been as skilled. Now when he called upon dark magic, it flocked to him readily… with _enthusiasm._ They were well matched and she was starting to realize it as he parried each of her spells with a dangerous spell of his own. He smirked and advanced on her, cornering her. None of their spells had hit home, but he was gaining on her.

When sharp nails tore ribbons into his bare arm where his sleeve had cinged off, the smile dropped from his face.

Greyback was upon him and Harry had no choice but to stop his advance and defend himself. At this range, the series of Cutting Hexes he sent into Greyback's gut should have been enough to cause fatal injury to a normal person, but the wolf merely howled and reached for him with abnormal gusto for someone with such an injury. Harry ducked, dodging a wayward spell of Bellatrix's. It burned a hole straight through the wall and the whole structure of the manor moaned and stretched.

He transfigured the carpet she stood on to fiery coals and turned his attention to Greyback an instant before the wolf reached out again. Harry darted out of the way once more, but winced when a rogue green curse grazed his neck. It would have slammed right into his chest if he hadn't moved away from Greyback. His injured skin puffed up and swelled as searing, red, hot pain assaulted his senses. The two of them together were too much, and Harry knew there'd only be more to come the longer he stood fighting.

He bathed himself in a blissful wave of dark magic, his burning skin cooling slightly when it washed over him. The magic he summoned should have scared him, but it only brought him a renewed sense of purpose. _Hermione._ Her name was a healing remedy to his soul. _I have to get back to Hermione._ Bellatrix seemed to think he was distracted and, threw one powerful curse after another at him. Harry couldn't dodge, deflect or shield them at this range, so he waved his wand in desperation, opening the air up just in front of him and watching with mild surprise and startling satisfaction as the curses were swallowed up whole.

Bellatrix's stunned expression fed his pleasure.

Feeling the pressure from holding the powerful curses that wished nothing more than to break free and wrought the damage they were meant for, he turned his wand on Greyback— the wolf only getting a second's warning before Harry let the curses loose, opening a portal in the air and galvanizing Greyback into action as he jumped clumsily out of the way, not quite escaping them, but at least he'd let go of Harry's collar. Harry moved on the wolf, hoping to end him _permanently_ and eliminate the threat once and for all so he wouldn't be distracted from Bellatrix any longer.

He'd barely taken one step, when Padfoot barreled around the corner and sank his teeth into the flesh of Greyback's thigh.

His relief was short lived as a light fixture exploded above him, sending sharp pieces of glass down on him. He waved his wand quickly and switched the direction of the glass, ordering it towards Bellatrix and lengthening the shards into sharp stakes. Bellatrix was no longer smiling as she faced the threat of Harry's expert spellcasting and he refused to break his focus, targeting his lethal weapons at her most vulnerable anatomy, intent on killing her.

When the glass stakes shifted to ice, then to water and fell harmlessly in a stream of drops to the ground, Harry cursed and readied his next spell. Beside him, the mingled snarls of Greyback and Padfoot as they rolled through the rubble and tore at each other echoed through the room. A quick glance showed Harry Sirius was winning, likely in part due to the wounds the wolf had already sustained.

With single-minded focus, he sent a violent spell rushing towards his opponent. His mouth dropped when for the first time, she failed to deflect it and the curse collided with her shoulder. She stumbled, but jutted her chin in defiance as she straightened to her full height and threw another curse his way, without faltering a single step in their dance.

"I don't understand..." she said, her voice devoid of its characteristic playfulness. "There's something different about you… something _wrong._ "

Tendrils of dark magic curled and licked at the air between them. He grinned.

"How did you vanish those spells, even for a moment? You shouldn't have… it isn't possible." She shouldered her injury and his wand hand twitched, itching to throw the _Avada_ that would end this. "You're not right."

"No," he sneered, " _you're_ not right." He advanced on her and she took a step back. Gleefully he registered the strain in her face. "It's _family first_. Don't you always say so?"

He met her heated glare, refusing to break eye contact. The magic he summoned filled him with an unnatural high. He felt more invincible with each curse he cast.

"You should know better." Harry's eyes gleamed with retribution.

She cast a surprisingly strong curse for someone enduring as much pain as he knew his Skin-Peeling Charm was causing underneath her black and silver robes, but he evaded it easily. Her free hand clutched her shoulder and he prepared himself to cast the final blow, still holding her dark, unsettling gaze.

He would end her. Yes. _No_. That wasn't right. He didn't want to end her. She was his family. He couldn't destroy his family. Could he? Of course not. His wand hand faltered.

The whole building seemed to waver. He could almost see the wards flexing, feeling somehow more attuned to them. He boasted Black heritage. He shared blood with these people. Maybe he could command the wards. Maybe he could tear through them. He felt like he could do damn near anything at this point. Even kill the wounded but still murderous witch in front of him.

No, not kill. She was family. He would stun. Yes. That would suffice.

Raising his wand, a jet of red light sprouted from the tip and headed straight for the witch. She made one last move to defend herself, but her movements were sluggish and her attempt at a shield was a second too late. Harry watched the scene indifferently, dazed by the magic he'd summoned. There was so much of it, he could scarcely control it. Instead of trying, he forced it to examine the decimation around him and search for a weak point in the wards. He could do this. He had the blood required.

Eyes fluttering shut, he called on the magic which even now poked violently against the wards. He tuned out the sound of fighting beside him and willed the magic to poke… prod… penetrate… rip through the Anti-Apparition spell which trapped them. His magic flexed and swelled in time with his breathing, and with all the strength he could muster he wrenched violently through the intricate Runic layers. They gave way underneath the assault and suddenly, it wasn't just a hole he'd tore, but the entirety of the ward that came crashing down.

He felt as though a weight had been lifted.

His eyes quickly scanned for Padfoot, and zoned in when he found him. Greyback's large hands were buried in the mane around Padfoot's throat. Fingers tightening around his wand, he ordered a well-aimed _Confringo_ at the beast and watched impassively as he was blasted off of his uncle. He may have killed the werewolf, he couldn't be sure. Part of him hoped he had. With an unnatural speed, he rushed to his godfather's side and grabbed hold of Padfoot's fur before stepping into the dark pressure of Apparition.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Sirius transformed back into a man and promptly choked on a mouthful of grass.

He hauled himself up onto his forearms, shaky and riddled with cuts that had moments ago been hidden in fur. But the shoddy bastard hadn't managed to bite him, had he? That was a win.

He was naked.

Of course he was.

But he had his wand and conjurred clothing quickly enough, ripping his sleeve and tying it with his teeth around a bleeding wound. He stood on shaky feet and looked for Harry. He'd attacked the wolf to distract Harry, hadn't he? Sirius paled when he recalled who he'd distracted Harry from.

Then, so suddenly it made him dizzy, he remembered just how he'd ended up on the lawn in the first place.

"Harry," he half called, half sighed in relief as he caught sight of his godson. "How did the wards fall? How'd you Apparate us?"

"Another time." Harry winced and rubbed at his neck where Sirius saw redness spreading, and blood dripping from his forearm. "I'll explain later. Let's just hope Draco's managed to keep track of those witches and they haven't given him the slip."

Seeing the urgency, he let his questions drop as he broke into a run alongside Harry, aiming for the spot where they'd left the others.

"I should have got Narcissa," Harry panted, exertion catching up with him.

"No." Sirius shook his head. "We've delayed this long enough. We should leave while we still can."

As if he'd invoked a black cloud over them both, a series of pops echoed over the grounds. His blood ran cold.

"Fuck," Harry swore, glancing over his shoulders before running on with a renewed vigor.

"How many?"

"No idea, but I see the Ministry insignia."

Sirius swore. They had nearly reached the edge. He didn't have the luxury to feel relief when the four of them came into view.

"Thank Merlin," he breathed.

"Who here has a wand?" Harry asked, bracing his hands on his knees while trying to catch his breath.

"You're injured!" Pansy said urgently.

"I'm fine."

"Pansy, myself, and you," Sirius answered. "We can all pair up and leave." He turned to the palest blonde, extending his arm. "Lovegood, I presume? Allow me to be your escort."

His gallant offer was swiftly snubbed, but not by the witch he'd addressed.

"Not so fast."

Davis. Sirius recognized her. They'd been Pureblood royalty until their daughter had disgraced the family and gone turncoat. Sirius supposed he could hardly judge, now that he was doing the same.

"You think we'll lead you right to Order Headquarters, is that it?" Her hands fell to her hip as she studied them.

" _Tracey_ ," Harry gestured wildly to the lawn from which they came, "if you haven't noticed, we're all running from the same people here. We need to leave _now_ before we're spotted. We left a mess in there."

"Please?" Pansy murmured, hesitantly meeting her feisty gaze..

"Yes, _please_ ," Draco mimicked. "It is the least you can do for, you know, _saving you_."

Davis glanced at Lovegood. "It could be a set-up."

Draco scoffed. "A fucking elaborate set-up."

"Sodding Hell." Sirius closed his eyes in exasperation. "To narrowly escape death only to be slaughtered inches from safety."

Davis bit her lip.

Harry dropped all pretense of Pureblood gallantry and grabbed Davis by the shoulders, giving her a good shake. "What will it take? For Merlin's sake tell me! So we can get out of here." He turned to Lovegood. "You said yourself that I was different. Throw me a bone here."

"I don't know." The tough-girl act dropped abruptly and Sirius saw Davis for the vulnerable girl she was. "Veritaserum… memories…"

"We don't have the luxury of time," Draco said. He shifted anxiously as he dropped an arm around Pansy.

Harry paced, eyeing the lawn as he walked. He seemed incapable of standing still. Finally, he froze. "I know." Tracing his wand with a flourish in a pattern Sirius seldom saw, but could never quite forget, a bright, white light erupted from the tip and bound into the wispy form of… Harry's corporeal Patronus.

It was a stag, like his father's Animagus form.

Everyone stared in astonishment.

"Does that satisfy you?" Harry looked from face to face. "Because I think I may have just given away our position."

"When did you learn how to do that?" Draco asked, shock etching the sharp lines of his face.

"Yes, when?" Sirius echoed.

"Bloody Hell. Does it matter?" Harry glared at him. He faced the witches. "Is that enough to get you to show us the way, at the least?"

Davis seemed to think it over, then shrugged.. "Yes, fine. It's not like there aren't precautions against these things. If you were aiming to trap us, the people following you will have a nasty surprise waiting for them."

"Precautions?" Harry looked like he wanted to strangle her. "Then why have you been putting up such a fuss about it?"

"Never mind." She turned to Luna. "You Apparate Malfoy and Parkinson and I'll go with Potter and Black."

Luna nodded. "Good plan. Now can we—."

Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as a Stinging Hex ripped through her violently.

Pansy lurched forward to catch her before she fell. "It's just a sting," she said in a rush, pulling her wand and latching onto Draco. "Now lead us to safety before you're too injured to Apparate." She held out her wand and Lovegood took it with a grimace.

She closed her eyes in concentration. "Give us a headstart," she said with labored breathing. "Make sure we're not being followed before you come." And with that the trio vanished.

"Sod it all," Harry cursed as he glared towards the approaching attackers. "We can't leave now." He turned to Davis. "Hide behind that rock. We'll come get you once they're distracted enough."

Harry marched off to the lawn, wand ready, sidestepping a curse that left a black mark on the grass. Sirius knew there was no chance Aurors wouldn't trace their Apparition if they were this close on their trail.

Without another thought, he ran to Harry's side.

**0~0~0**

Sirius felt alive.

Young again, even.

Fighting next to his godson was the greatest feeling in the world.

The boy could duel. Fierce pride swelled in his chest, leaving no room for any other bothersome feelings like fear or worry. He knew those private lessons had paid off, even if the blasted tutor had insisted Harry didn't have the knack to it—he was a bloody natural!

Working together, Harry blocked a curse and Sirius parried another before they sent a powerful spell jetting out across the lawn. It was only Yaxley, Corbin, and Weasley. The others must be inside looking for the culprits, but once they heard dueling, they would come running and then Harry and Sirius would be overwhelmed.

Sirius didn't care. He lived for it. He could die happily. When he spared his godson a glance in between cursing, he swore it was James he saw fighting beside him. The spitting image, at least. Except the eyes. But with only the stars and the spells lighting their way, Sirius could pretend it was either… or both… it didn't matter. He was just happy. He hadn't realized he'd even been so _unhappy_ until that moment. But now it was glaringly clear.

It was so much better to fight against the system than assimilate so well, you become part of the bloody furniture.

A powerful _Diffindo_ slashed through the air and headed straight towards Harry. It was an impressive strike, but the boy was more than prepared. Before Sirius could intercept the curse with his body, Harry deftly jumped aside, effectively dodging it, and moving with the graceful lope of a stag before falling right back in a defensive pose. As the deadly curse blackened the grass where Harry had been standing previously, the wizard caught Sirius' gaze and laughed. He couldn't help but to join in. Smirking like two pranksters dodging Filch.

But it wasn't all fun and games. Harry _could die_.

The thought was enough to sober Sirius from his dazed stupor brought on by the fighting. "Follow your friends, Harry," Sirius advised, staring at his ward fondly. "I'll distract them for you."

Harry only narrowly missed another curse, but refused to leave. "I'm not leaving you," Harry gritted out even as he charged up his wand for another spell. "Not when I forced you to come."

"You didn't force me," Sirius shouted above the deafening clash of spells. "I came because I wanted to."

Harry's eyes glimmered and he swallowed thickly, before breaking into an all out grin. His mood was contagious, and soon Sirius forgot all about convincing Harry to leave him. In his mind, he was with Jamie again.

Sirius' joy soared when Weasley went flying thanks to his _Bombarda._ Yaxley and Corbin were having a tough time of beating off Harry's curses. Whenever they got close to landing a blow, a shield would spring up in existence. They were well and truly fucked now that Sirius could focus all of his attention on them. Harry's curses were getting sharper and more ruthless with each spell. Dare he say Harry was a better dueler than even he was? Sirius was rusty— it had been years— but still.

The boy moved with the same grace and ease as he'd only seen one other.

Speaking of which…

Sirius' mood plummeted and his step faltered when he caught sight of the newcomers breaching the lawn. Three more Weasleys. Macnair and his son. His own cousin, Nymphadora. Pettigrew scampering along the shadows like the rat he was. And…

"Riddle," Harry breathed.

The boy didn't waste any time. Instead of standing there gawking he conjured a large ball of energy, shifting in color from blue to green to orange. It drained so much power growing larger by the second, Sirius could see no other way to help but lend his own magical strength. He pointed his wand and when all incantations failed him, just _willed_ his magical energy to feed the growing juggernaut of Harry's creation. Sirius looked from side to side, paling when he saw the Dark Lord leave the house and step out onto the lawn, wand already waving into a complicated pattern.

The Dark Lord's spell did not get a chance to wreck the havoc the pale, yew wood was famous for, because at that moment Harry pushed the ball forward with all his might and the energy went flying towards the Knights and their king.

Sirius stood watching, curious as to the result, but was knocked when Harry made a mad dash over to him, wrapping both arms around his chest as they fell. Harry didn't hesitate for a second before pulling them into Apparition.

They appeared by the rock just as the explosion detonated, changing the night sky from evening to day for several long seconds. If they'd been left standing, they probably would have been swallowed up in a blast so large. Had it killed their enemies?

Sirius saw Davis sitting against the rock and hugging her torn jeans, tugging her head in her lap in a protective gesture against the explosion. Harry touched her lightly on the shoulder, rousing her. The sound of the blast rang in his ears and Sirius couldn't hear words but saw their mouths moving. Before he'd gathered his barings, he was pulled into Apparition again.

And again.

Harry Apparated them from one place to another in a perpetual blur with a determination that astounded Sirius.

Just when he thought he would pass out from the vertigo, he came to once again. A thud echoed loudly against the ground, indicating another body had fell beside him. He groaned as a third body crashed. He inwardly scoffed at their inability to land upright during Apparition before realizing he was also lying recumbent. He pulled himself up.

"Harry, will you bloody well give it a rest?" Sirius threw a hand over his eyes, wincing against the light or the moon.

Davis let out a moan. "I'm going to be sick."

He heard waves crashing against cliffs. The sky was still dark and the air tasted like the sea.

Harry looked comparatively sharp as ever. There was a certain paranoia in his eyes that spoke of someone wiser, harder, than his eighteen years. Something tugged at Sirius' mind. Spells. All those spells. How had the lad known them _all_? How had he not boasted of his skill before? He'd heard rumors of the boy's dueling ability that school year, but he'd yet to see for himself. The puzzling thought flickered away and died in the face of a throbbing headache.

"Can you Apparate us now?" Harry asked Davis urgently. "I think we've lost them."

"We never _had them_ ," Sirius was compelled to tell him as he searched blindly for his flask. Where had he placed his flask? Sodding Hell. They wouldn't be in the clothes he conjured, would they? "They were never on our trail in the first place. That explosion took care of that."

"You hope," Harry retorted.

"I—I think… I can?" Davis finally answered, looking thoroughly discombobulated.

Harry thrust her his wand and her eyes widened. "Don't splinch us."

Sirius straightened his collar, once again lamenting his lost flask. "Just a moment, I think the girl needs to gather her bear—."

His request was cut short as suddenly they stepped into Apparition once more, but this time when they landed they stumbled into a very different kind of night.

When he came to, he sensed more bodies than he'd thought were in his and Pansy's group. He reeled. How many were supposed to be there? He traveled with two—he remembered that, at least. Falling to his knees he promptly started gagging. So much for being an expert Apparater. His nauseousness clearly indicated the Apparition had traveled them a long way. Feeling threatened, he shifted into Padfoot again. The sharpened senses of a beast picked up on the body heat he only barely registered as a man. His paws tread through fresh snow and for the first time he noted the icy night air. He heard a branch snap and swiveled his head just in time to see the blonde Blood-traitor scramble away into the darkness.

So much for playing savior.

Looking up, his eyes roved over a dark blue sky dotted with stars. The sky was clearer here. Yes, they'd definitely traveled far. Ugh, he felt like he'd been hit repeatedly with a _Knock-Back Jinx_. His stomach was in knots.

A prickling feeling of unease invaded his senses. He prowled lower, attune to danger. Where was Harry? Why did he feel as if he were being watched in this strange world of winter? Sniffing the air, he started when he sensed a presence.

A familiar presence.

A presence he should never have sensed.

Crouching, he stepped back into the shadow of a tree, giving into his first instinct to hide.

Someone was drawing nearer, and they made no move to conceal themselves. He looked around blearily, inwardly flinching as he sensed more bodies closing in on him. Padfoot cowered, fearful of who he might see when the rustling of bulky winter clothes came closer. His vision was stilted, the transformation failed to quite eviscerate his nausea.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up, uncomprehending. There was a man eclipsing the little bit of light he'd been afforded. He knelt down in front of him, his features slowly becoming clear to Padfoot's heightened senses. He cocked his head to the side, studying him.

Padfoot stared up into the face of someone supposed to be dead, _long dead,_ trailed closely behind by someone supposed to be _equally as dead_ , a flash of her red hair catching in the moonlight. Padfoot whimpered, the sound uncertain.

"Hello, Sirius."

**~oOo*oOo~**

 


	23. Forceful Questioning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I've been sitting on this chapter for a while now, but I did drop promises in my earlier updates that I would update this, and I did have two margaritas at dinner to fill me with some liquid courage, so I'm gonna stop second guessing and just post. Maybe if I do that, I can finally move on and make more progress on ch24! And also-omgosh you guys-this story hit 1k reviews! And I'm pretty sure I've never written a story this long. Those are HUGE milestones for me you guys! Thanks a lot to those of you that have shared your thoughts/concrit/encouragement/disappointment/whatever. . .all of it has helped me grow so much as a writer, seriously. I hope I can convey the crazy thoughts in my head adequately enough on here to do the story justice Xx**
> 
> **I've been between betas and that's part of the reason that took so long! I badly need to discuss plot lines with someone. But beautifuldisazter offered to help me on Harm &Co and I'm very grateful. Thanks so much!**

****

**~oOo*oOo~**

Harry winced against the bitter taste of Veritaserum and tried desperately not to aspirate as he choked it down.

He'd never been force-fed this much Veritaserum, not even during his Auror training, and he wondered if he'd be able to resist the potion's alluring pull to speak freely. He somehow doubted it. Beside him Sirius coughed and sputtered, before recovering and letting loose a slew of colorful curses aimed at their captors.

Their captors.

Of all the people he might have guessed would sweep out to meet him, Harry certainly wouldn't have expected to come face to face with the two _ghosts_ he saw currently. People who were long dead in the world he'd come from. People he was led to believe were dead for an _even longer_ time here.

_Remus and Lily._

A large lump formed in the back of his throat and he worked earnestly to swallow down his wild emotions.

His face ached where _his mother_ had clenched his jaw and tilted his head back so Remus could pour the Veritaserum down his throat. If she'd bothered asking, himself and he was sure Sirius, would have both agreed to take the potion freely.

He couldn't stop his eyes from flicking over to his mother, assessing her features… her every expression… learning her as he'd never been able to before. She was _quite young_ , and then Harry remembered she had only been nineteen when she'd gotten pregnant with him, which would make her about thirty-seven now. Her long hair was swept behind her head in a haphazard ponytail, not flaming red like Ginny's, but a more muted, copper color. She was hunched over her knees, studying him just as sharply as he was her. She looked sleek and predatory—harder, somehow—than he remembered seeing in her likeness thanks to the few photos he had of her. He turned away sharply and tried not to gag. Perhaps it was the faded blue trench coat she wore over cargo trousers or the lace-up boots which gave her a rather foreboding and unapproachable look. When he glanced up he was met with green eyes very much like his own, like he'd always been told he shared with her, but it was somehow much different seeing them in person— _jarring_.

He molded his expression into one of careful innocence.

_Not his mother._

He worked hard to remind himself. His mother _had died_ , but then so had _His Hermione._ It was hard to meet Lily's stare and not see her as his family.

Showing fear was highly inadvisable. He needed to act as if he had nothing to hide if he were to pull this off. Glancing over, he saw Sirius bound to a chair same as him, face contorted in stunned horror. Thankfully, someone had thrown Sirius a robe when he was forcibly shifted back to a man.

"Curious," Lily said, straightening to her full height, but refusing to take her eyes off of Harry. "Last I heard, you were a right, spoilt brat. ' _Pureblood Poster-Boy_ ,' I was told. Now you're here?" She leveled her probing stare at him. " _Of all_ places?"

"Yes," Harry snapped back, already feeling the potions effects starting to work on him. He clasped his jaw shut and looked away, his Auror-trained-mind subconsciously working to keep him from speaking and focus instead on making sense of where he was.

The rock walls indicated they were somewhere inside the massive fortress he vaguely remembered being hauled up to. It had seemed like nothing more than a series of cliffs and frozen rock adorning the mountain, but once they'd breached the borders of the wards, a series of cave-like towers and turrets forming something resembling a castle came into view. Crossing the wards had felt like wading through thick, viscous syrup, the substance heavy and weighing him down. But when he'd been forced roughly through with the wards shimmering iridescent behind him, he wasn't too far gone to admire the brilliance of this universe's version of Order Headquarters.

A harshly forged castle cut into the rock cliffs by wizard hands, and right in the wilds of Wales, to boot. He had been struck by the picture it made, snowflakes swirling around the perimeter but not breaching the protective barrier. An impenetrable fortress smack dab in the land of winter, and far from any place he recognized from the war. He'd been hauled rougher still through the entrance and only vaguely registered how access was frozen shut behind them, another security measure.

 _Damn,_ he cursed silently. _I should have sought them out sooner._

They were… _better_ equipped than the Order of his world. Better prepared. And if his comparatively measly version of the Order had managed to conquer Voldemort, than he didn't see how this one could possibly fail. What was it they were missing? They clearly possessed a team of clever and capable witches and wizards.

"You will talk," Lily threatened. "You'll be singing like a Fwooper before a rain."

"Lily," Remus spoke low in a warning, and Harry's attention twisted sharply to focus on his former mentor.

His stomach gave a violent lurch. The sight of Remus after all this time spent away was just as jarring as meeting Sirius had been. He was… the same. He could have been the very same Remus from his own world's, the one who had been deprived of his young wife and child. He bore the same scars and the same lines on his face. There was a tenderness in his eyes Harry recognized.

Harry really should have placed discovering more about the Order higher on his lists of priorities. It's what Hermione would have done, had their roles been reversed. He felt utterly stupid for disregarding them so. It might have built trust, had he sought them out sooner. Preferably _before_ he's been inducted in the Knights. But now all he had to defend himself with was one good deed against a lifetime of bad behavior. It was a flimsy shield, at best. He suddenly felt very much like the Draco of his time after having thrown Harry his wand during the last battle, but still being called to stand trial in front of the Wizengamot and answer for his crimes. A day too late and a sickle short.

"Don't _Lily me,_ Remus," Lily said with a hiss before slanting her emerald hard stare on Sirius. "What about you, _dog_?" Her lip curled in distaste. "Seeing you… showing up here… and with _him._ "

Harry tried not to flinch when he felt her focus shift back to him. Was she always like this? So… _hostile_? Or was it all an act… or _worse_ … an act reserved primarily for _her enemies_. He most assuredly did not wish to remain her enemy.

"I can certainly say it's the very last thing I expected."

Sirius made a choking noise in his throat, and Harry saw his jaw working as he prepared to speak. " _Sorry_ to disappoint, _Evans_ ," he said— to his credit— with equal disgust, "I know how you can't stand not knowing something, what with that insatiable thirst for knowledge you've always been plagued with. Must be eating away at you."

A resounding crack could be heard as Lily slapped Sirius hard enough to make his face turn the other way. Blotchy, reddened skin spanned over his cheek, forming into the shape of a handprint.

"Don't get a rise out of her, Sirius," Remus intoned tiredly.

Sirius ignored the advice, staring daggers back at Lily, rage swimming in his eyes.

Lily had no trouble meeting his gaze. "What the fuck are you up to?" Hives climbed up her neck, an indication she was at her wit's end, Harry assumed. "It's always been your life's mission to shape _him,"_ she darted Harry a glance, "into the spitting image of yourself since the very beginning. Yet now you're here. _Why_?"

Setting his jaw, Sirius refused to answer her and Harry marveled over his ability to resist Veritaserum, even if the potions effects were still in its early stages. She didn't push, though—and was all too happy to continue on her tirade. Harry felt a smirk tugging at his mouth in the face of her wrath. It was becoming clear where he got his notorious Gryffindor temper from.

"You're lucky every single trace spell we cast confirmed you weren't followed." Lily's brows drew together as if laboring over a tricky puzzle, but the fierce expression didn't leave her face. "I'm not entirely sure if this is some outlandish Death Eater scheme, or if you've _gone mad._ If it is a trick, you can be sure you won't come out the winning side."

Sirius snorted, looking every inch the debonair Pureblood regardless of his disturbingly vulnerable position.

"Need to curry more favor, is that it?"

Harry was all too happy for Sirius to take the heat while he worked his mind frantically how best to approach their interrogation. He didn't know these people, and he simply had to employ caution in his every word, despite the potion intent on loosening his tongue.

"More than you already have," Lily explained with an arched brow. "Perhaps you've put on this rather elaborate show just to breach the unbreachable, in which case I must say kudos to you—you have managed _that_ , at least—though you won't manage much else."

"I only did what was asked of me," Sirius bit out harshly, glaring in defiance at her, eyes glinting cryptically. "It's what I've _always_ done."

There was an emphasis on his words Harry felt instinctively meant something more, but he could not think for the life of him why it nagged at him so. The adrenaline surging in his chest—that hadn't tempered since he'd battled Bellatrix, Ministry officials, and then made their desperate getaway—made it hard to focus on any _one thing_.

"Perhaps it would have been a different story altogether if one of you," Sirius paused to glance between Lily and Remus before finally resting on Remus, his grey eyes seemingly finding the man guilty right then and there, "had _made yourself known._ Don't you think that would have been helpful? You don't think it might have been prudent to let me know one of my _best friend's_ is still alive?" Sirius craned his neck, looking somewhere over Remus' shoulder. "Will Jamie be waltzing around the corner next?"

A muscle twitched by Lily's eye and Remus stood stoically, still having moved very little since having forced them to drink the Veritaserum.

The effects of the potion were kicking in now. Oh yes. In a few more moments, Harry knew he'd be hard-pressed to resist answering any question posed to him. He hoped he could still evade some, at least.

" _Let you know_?" Lily mimicked, somewhat cruelly. "Reveal to you—a known Riddle sympathizer—that the Dark Lord's most fearsome enemies are not as dead as he's been led for years to believe?" She shook her head, her eyes sorrowful. "I don't think so. You've always been cowardly. You and Peter both. I frequently wondered how the two of you could have ever been sorted into Gryffindor. You chose your side—the easy route—like you've always done. And now you expect me to believe you've had a change of heart, sixteen years in the making after you've been so dead-set on making sure—."

"Enough, Lily," Remus spoke with finality, cutting Harry off from hearing whatever she was going to say next. He glanced behind him and into the shadows cast by the rock ledge shading the room. For the first time, Harry heard movement—the sound of clothes rustling—and he wondered who could be standing back there with their wands trained, watching their interrogation and Harry's own ultimate humiliation. Was Hermione among them? Had she been welcomed by this hostile version of the Order?

Before Remus could continue, he was cut off by Lily once more.

"No." Her eyes blazed in defiance. "You will tell me, Black. You'll tell me why now, after all this time, why is it _now_ that you've decided to grace us with your presence and try your best—no doubt—to fuck everything up."

Sirius eyes shimmered and his jaw clamped and unclamped, before speaking between grit teeth. "Why don't you ask the boy?" he was compelled to tell her, tilting his head Harry's way. "It was his idea after all," here Sirius seemed to regain some of his gentlemanly grace, "I just came along for the ride."

Harry felt two pairs of eyes turn sharply on him and realized he could no longer escape the spotlight. Remus and… his mother would interrogate him and all in front of the room full of mysterious onlookers, most likely.

"How…" Lily paused, appraising Harry with her eyes and seeming to assess his strengths and weaknesses. By the way her lip curled in distaste, Harry assumed he came up on the lacking side. " _Puzzling_."

Remus' grey eyes—not stormy and intense like Sirius', but sort of muted and dimmed— twinkled in a fashion not unlike the way Dumbledore's had. He eyed Harry with renewed interest and Harry tried not to squirm in the chair he was bound to.

"I think," Remus said, his tone calming and relaxed despite the thick tension in the room, "it's time they're questioned separately."

Lily's eyes grew downright gleeful. She nodded her agreement. "And we're _very good_ at questioning."

The threat lay heavily in the air.

"But you shouldn't be alone with him," Lily turned to Remus, cautioning him, and for the first time Harry noted concern flick over her features.

"I won't be," Remus assured her, before striding over to Harry's chair and flicking several spells over him that had Lily gasping. The man had loosened his binds. "I'll take Neville. You take Cho and Susan."

"But don't _free him_ ," Lily stressed, eyeing Remus' actions with horror. "We don't know what he's capable of."

Harry knew her words were only logical, and he knew this witch who wore his mother's face was _not_ _his mother_ , the knowledge still didn't lessen the sting of her words.

Not in the slightest.

"We've apprehended his wand, administered Veritaserum, and will have two armed and capable wizards questioning him. There's no need to keep him restrained." He offered his hand to Harry and Harry took it carefully as he pulled himself to a standing position. "You won't give us trouble, will you?"

"No."

Remus clapped him on the shoulder but Lily still eyed them dubiously. "That's a good lad." The man who wore his former mentor's face prodded him forward and looked over at Lily. "I don't, however, fault you for keeping Sirius bound during his inquiry." A faintly mischievous smirk passed over his lips, and Harry could have sworn he sensed fondness—a certain affection—when he spared Sirius a glance. "He is a full grown wizard, after all."

Lily huffed. "You just think the girls and I can't handle him, is the real truth."

Remus only smirked wider, and Harry looked away.

Who he was to be confronted by gave him pause.

Dressed in the distinctly sensible way Harry now attributed to Order members of trenches and combat boots, and moving with a graceful litheness he was surprised to note from the man he once knew, was Neville Longbottom.

Harry almost didn't recognize his former housemate. He was slimmer and taller and his shoulders were _broad_. The wizard was certainly more muscular than Harry was himself. His hair was longer than Harry remembered, falling slightly in his face, a face that Harry was disturbed to realize held not a trace of the trademark kindness Neville was known for. He certainly lacked no confidence.

Harry was thrown.

"Come on," Remus prodded him towards the menacing version of Neville. "We only want to talk… understand your reasons for coming to us."

Harry gulped. "Alright."

Two witches pushed past them, heading towards Lily and a bound and restrained Sirius. He was mildly surprised to recognize Susan and Cho, who once again looked glaringly different than the versions of them he once knew. Harry felt a glimmer of sorrow for Sirius, having been the one to pull him into this situation in the first place, but he didn't have time to reflect on how he could have improved the situation as he hastened to march off to his own—as Remus so delicately put it— _inquiry._

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Hey, Potter!" Neville said with false enthusiasm, his grin hardly disarming. "Are you happy to see me?" He clapped his hands down on the worn wooden table that stood between them. "Or better yet…" He squinted in contemplation. "Have you come to _join our cause_?" His tone suggested he hardly believed such was the case.

Harry shifted uneasily, feeling alarmingly guilty for something he hadn't even done. But he was guilty of other things, he supposed.

"Hey… er, Longbottom," he hazarded carefully, all the while aware of Remus' eyes on him. "Funny thing, that… because as a matter of fact—."

"Don't give me that shite, Potter," Neville hissed in a warning, his eyes defiant. "Nearly everyone here is used to your manipulations. Do you think we'd up and fall for your ploys that easily? You'd be better off sending Nott… Hell— _Nymphadora herself_ with the Weasley twins to boot before you sent yourself."

Harry seethed whilst simultaneously wrapping his head around the information Neville unintentionally gave him. He already knew at least two of the Weasley brothers were something of heroes to the Knights, but he hadn't yet discerned what Nymphadora Tonk's role was in this topsy-turvy world he'd traveled to. Apparently, she was yet another enemy—and a foreboding one the former Potter should have heard of—if Neville's comment was any indication.

"Easy, Neville," Remus bid, not taking his eyes off Harry. "We're only having a talk—a friendly chat between wizards—no need for hostility."

Throat clogging with emotions, Harry stilled his features and met the probing gazes of the two former professors—one Herbology professor in his world's future and the other his own Defense instructor in his world's past—each had left their mark on him.

Damn his luck. Finding himself in a predicament where Hermione was alive and well had always been his most desperate wish, but to be here among _the Light_ and regarded as an enemy? It was bloody _disconcerting_. He couldn't stand it, and wished nothing more but for their acceptance. It was a foolish move on his part to not seek them out sooner. Perhaps fences could have been mended… _before_ he took up cause with the bloody Death Eaters. He glared at them in silence, his bitterness causing him to feel hopeless. He'd mucked it up, and now he'd marched himself straight onto enemy lines in his foolhardy pursuit of a witch who wanted nothing to do with him. He glanced down, desolate.

It was… _pathetic._ And Harry felt he lived up to the word quite spectacularly.

One accomplishment in a never-ending sea of failures.

How were his accomplices fairing? Were they the subject of angry curses and further truth serums? Were they currently being judged—as he was—for their shortcomings? They were… _all of them…_ born on the wrong side of this war. To gain the trust of Muggle-borns and their sympathizers would be a difficult feat to manage, especially given a history of living a life of indulgence in Tom Riddle's new world order. How could he ever have convinced himself it was a good idea to bring Sirius and the others along? Things were clearly in a far worse off state than they had been in his world.

He was doomed.

"They tell me you can produce a Patronus Charm."

Harry jolted upright as if Ennerviated and met Remus' searching gaze. For the first time, a flicker of hope flared inside his chest.

"Is it true?" Remus probed. "Can you really cast one?"

"Yes," the Veritaserum compelled him to answer and he didn't see the point of resisting.

Remus sat back, evaluating him.

Neville looked on with distrusting eyes. "A corporal one?"

Harry gave a jerky nod. "It takes the form of a stag."

He didn't stop to think what it meant that _they knew_. How such knowledge indicated Remus and the Order had already questioned Harry's co-conspirators before approaching him. No, he didn't stop to wonder, but the truth of the fact hit him squarely in the chest just the same. A painful reminder. This wasn't the Order he'd been a part of. This was an Order more conniving… more ruthless… more willing to commit crimes just to ascertain the truth or press an advantage. They were a more desperate Order than the one he'd known… an order who had been fighting _for years_.

Begrudgingly, Harry felt a flare of respect for them.

"Who taught you?" Remus said, as friendly as he pleased, but Harry sensed the demand in the delicately phrased question.

"You," he blurted, before blanching and stopping himself between darting a guilty glance between Remus and Neville. "I mean… someone _like_ you," he amended. "A mentor of sorts."

The intensity of Remus' stare sharpened. Indeed, Neville was skewering holes in his side with his own stare.

"Hm," Remus hummed, and Harry worried he would probe further, but the shifter chose not to. "I see. I must admit," he favored Neville with a mischievous look, "we are a bit… _thrown_. You see, no one could have expected how many spells you'd add to your regimen before next we saw you."

For the first time, Neville appeared to be the uncomfortable one, clenching his jaw as he refused to remove his gaze from Harry's.

"Er… spells?" Harry ventured tentatively. Did they test his wand. But one look in Remus' surprisingly shrewd and calculating gaze and he could tell _of course_ they'd tested his wand. The last spell he'd performed was Apparition, but perhaps they had a tracing spell that could discern an entire night's worth of spells, not just the final one. Or maybe witnesses had relayed some of what they saw. Harry felt nauseous as he considered all the dark and complex spells he'd performed that night.

"Quite extensive duelling ability you have there, Harry," Remus commended, but where Harry expected to see genuine praise, there was only calculation. "Mind telling us where you came by such knowledge?"

"Sirius," Harry couldn't keep from voicing the half-truth. He physically made himself expand on the explanation. "And… _further tutelage._ " He thought of his Auror training. The statement was technically true. "My godfather has always been attentive in expanding my duelling knowledge. He's hired tutors." Not an outright lie, by Sirius' own words. Not the outright truth, either.

Remus nodded. "Impressive."

"Quite so," Neville interjected, starting a mock clap. "The Knights must be _so pleased_ to have you."

"I've always had little control over my fate," Harry told them cryptically, another truth. "It was _always_ expected of me that I would join them." The second _always_ was hard to get out but if he told himself to isolate his old world from his thoughts, he supposed that was true as well.

Remus studied him intently. Harry tried not to shift uncomfortably in the rickety chair.

"Why have you come? Why would you save the girls?" Neville was relentless. "How could you convince Black to stick his neck out for anyone, let alone Malfoy whom we both know he's never favored. What would even prompt you to? Is it all some elaborate mission you've been given?"

"No."

"Answer everything." Remus folded his arms over his chest, his gaze probing.

"No," Harry reiterated. "Doing what we did has probably made us enemy number one as far as the Knights are concerned. The truth is…" Harry swallowed several times, scrambling for what to say and what his tongue would allow him to say. He had some skill at resisting Veritaserum so long as he manipulated the question, but in this case he settled mostly on the truth. "I suppose it mainly has to do with Hermione." He sighed and tried to meet the surprised gazes in front of him. "It started with her anyway." And that was true, also. "She made me see… things that were _wrong_ in the magical world. At first I thought I could protect her, so I performed well in front of Riddle. He promised me her safety, that I could…" His face twisted in a grimace. "That I could keep her. And it was fine for a while. But it still bothered me. And she wasn't happy. Not at all. I tried to convince her this was the best way… the best life we could have, but she insisted on taking up arms against the Ministry and finding… you guys." He exhaled a loud breath through his nose, twisting his hands guiltily in his lap. "I'd always been led to believe the Order was… _weak._ I didn't think trying to join the Order was anything other than a death trap, so I tried to talk her out of it. But then the raid happened at the Malfoy party and I started to second guess what I'd been told. I felt terrible for apprehending Lovegood. Hermione looked at me as if I'd betrayed her… as if I was the enemy. And after that, everything started to unravel. Draco and Pansy came to beg us for help. Hermione just left. I felt more guilty than ever… and I suddenly realized I didn't care if the Order was a lost cause or if I was choosing the harder path… I had to make things right. I had to save Luna and help Draco." He shifted his stare to Remus, taking in his unreadable expression. "Sirius didn't take much convincing—he's _a good person_. He's just for so long suffocated those feelings and he's grown numb to what was happening. But now it's different. We want to fight for the Light."

Harry held his breath and fought from wincing, afraid of what kind of response his confession would be met with. Remus' face was still inscrutable, but Neville looked doubtful, at best.

"That's a pretty speech, Potter," Neville said, finally breaking the silence. "But one thing doesn't make sense—why would Granger, the girl you bullied and were terrible to all through our Hogwarts years—make you see _anything_?" He shook his head, as if he couldn't accept the notion. "You expect us to believe your about face in morals was directly triggered _by her_?" He snorted. "I can't believe that. Maybe it's not just your spells you've mastered—maybe you have a knack for resisting potions as well."

Neville had a point, but the truth was he _wasn't lying._ Hermione really had been the trigger. He thought about the person he was becoming back in his old world—a bitter war veteran bent on getting knackered and imbuing in potions. His morals had taken a dive. When he'd arrived here with a second chance and whole body, he'd approached the road ahead with a vicious cunning that would have stunned the idealistic young man who'd fought and beat Voldemort. It was only thanks to Hermione— _this_ _world's Hermione—that_ he found his righteous sense of justice again.

"Harry," Remus gentle voice pulled him out of his private musings. "Can I call you Harry?"

He nodded.

"Neville brings up a valid point. When did your feelings for the girl change?"

Harry ducked his eyes and took a deep breath before looking up again. "It's always been there." _Not a lie._ "I think I tried to pretend it wasn't, because I wasn't supposed to like her." He thought about Ron and how Hermione had always been _his girl_. There was no room for Harry. By the time he'd come to terms with his feelings, they both were with other people. It had been too late. "I did terrible things to her," _also not a lie,_ "but I couldn't keep lying to myself." He stopped himself just short of confessing his love for the object of his obsessions.

Neville pursed his lips. "I'm still not sure."

Remus sighed deeply. "Normally, I wouldn't even consider the possibility of a school boy being able to resist Veritaserum, but as the situation is a grievous one, and you've already proved above average skill in spellcasting, I trust you understand we'd like to take further precautions?"

Harry tensed, but his only outward response was a slight clenching in the muscle by his eye. "Of course." He mentally prepared himself for what he was sure would come next. Just like with Riddle, he had to allow Remus to enter his mind. Blocking him was out of the question. That meant he had to have memories prepared and ready. But what to let him see? Was it possible Hermione had revealed his secret? Should he fully divulge he was out of place in this universe? His instincts told him _no._ But if this was a test and he didn't tell them, perhaps he would face even more trouble.

When Remus lifted the 10 ¼ cypress wand and trained it on Harry's face, he physically tried not to flinch and met his former professor's stare resolutely.

" _Legilimens_."

Unlike when he'd faced Riddle, Harry didn't even try to throw his guards up. Perhaps Riddle had only been testing him, but Remus was searching for information—he would be unrelenting, though Harry couldn't be sure how that measured up to Riddle's laziest attempt at Legilimency. He tried to console himself with the notion that if he could fool Riddle, he could certainly deflect Remus.

The invasion of his mind was no less shocking.

Remus swept through his head with a powerful wave of heady magic that gleamed a rusty reddish hue and smelled like copper. Against his instincts, Harry allowed him entry and had a whole slew of memories waiting for him to flick through.

The memories he showed were initially inauspicious enough—lounging around in the common room with his friends… eating in the Great Hall… racing on his broom in an arena full of avid onlookers… but then he gradually allowed more memories to slip through. Furtive glances at Hermione from across the class… sitting behind her in Charms so he could he could watch her work… stealthily following her in the halls after dark to make sure she made it safely to their dorms. He even allowed the one memory he'd stolen from her—hazy in his mind but he mended it to seem authentic—it was the one where his former self had tricked Hermione by asking her to the Yule Ball. Remus lingered here and Harry packed the stolen memory with powerful emotions—a deep shame for liking someone he shouldn't, a cowardly fear his classmates would think less of him, and a deep-seated guilt over what he'd done to a girl he cared so strongly about. The memory reeked of authenticity, nothing like the tampered with memory he'd obtained from Slughorn all those years ago. He followed that memory up with snippets of their budding relationship. Their private lessons… the white lilies he'd conjured for her… their first kiss. He backed the visions up with more emotion—not just the overwhelming attraction he felt for her that couldn't be more real—but the love and devotion that suggested he would do _anything_ to protect her. He let Remus see the memory where he'd attacked Ron after discovering him hurting Hermione, and gladly showcased the rage he felt at the time. Remus lingered once more on the memory of Harry cornering Luna, and the impact of that decision to turn her in when he was so hesitant to. He swiped through more memories, philosophical discussions with Hermione he infused with a strong feeling of conviction and enlightenment, Greyback tearing into him and the reminder that the wound still smarted, relief upon seeing Luna and Tracey, and cold, hard determination when the Ministry arrived at the Manor and he and Sirius turned bravely to face them. The desolation he felt when Hermione left him. Remus stopped on another memory of Harry and Sirius at Potter Manor and Harry felt Remus' magic pulse curiously as he paused to eavesdrop on their conversation. _I suppose it was my stubbornness, pride, and brashness that got me into Gryffindor, not my pride._ And then… _you're my kin. The only kin I've ever known._ Harry's heart clenched in his chest and it wasn't an emotion he had to fake.

Remus smoothly withdrew from his mind and Harry found his muscles were clenched, his hands gripped tightly around the seat. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, breathing rapidly as he regained his composure.

Straining to keep his features open and honest, he brought his eyes up to Remus. Remus studied him for a time, and beside him Neville could barely contain himself.

"Illuminating," Remus finally said, his voice roughened and breathing slightly labored.

Harry didn't blame him—he felt just as drained. The whirlwind of emotions causing him to feel just as taxed as when he'd fought Bellatrix and then the Ministry officials.

"What?" Neville could no longer keep from prodding. "What did you see? He's lying, isn't he? Somehow he's figured out how to lie…" Neville trailed off uncertainty, brown eyes searching Remus.

He gave Neville a cursory glance, features softening before turning again to face Harry. "He's telling the truth."

Neville blanched, his eyes flashing with something akin to guilt Harry planned on dissecting later.

"He genuinely cares for the girl." Remus' mouth twisted in a tired smile. "I do worry, Harry, that your affection for Granger trumps any loyalty you may build with us."

Harry's jaw tightened, not exactly pleased with having his feelings laid bare in front of his maybe/possibly enemies. "I care about her," he admitted. "But I want to help the Order too. I'd like to be on the right side, this time." He clenched his fists and opened his palms in a gesture of peace. "If you'll have me."

Neville's eyes were piercing.

Remus inclined his jaw. "It remains to be seen whether or not you're ready to commit fully to our cause, but if that's your wish—we will give you the opportunity to prove yourself."

Harry almost felt light with relief.

"You'll find it will be no easy task."

**~oOo*oOo~**

When Harry was reunited with Lily again, he was surprised to see exhaustion written all over her face. He'd been dreading seeing his mother again—more fearful to face her than he had been under Remus and Neville's scrutiny—but it would appear interrogating Sirius had left its toll on her.

Lily pressed her eyes closed and ran her fingers through her hair. Her eyes snapped open when she Remus cleared his throat. The tiredness vanished.

The witch straightened to her full height, tapping her shoe impatiently against the stone floor. "Well?"

Harry's eyes scanned for Sirius, but the only other person he saw was Susan resting her back along the far side of the room. His breath caught as he was instantly plagued with worry.

Lily arched a brow. "What's the verdict?"

"It would appear our fortune has changed," Neville informed her, voice laced with sarcasm. "Potter intends to join our ranks."

She pursed her lips. "I see." For a moment, the weariness crept back in her features and she turned away. He relaxed for a fraction of a second, but then she whirled around, wand clenched tightly in her hand as she purged the distance between them in long strides. She grabbed his chin and tilted his head back with one hand, and trained her wand at his dome with the other. Taken by surprise, he was stuck between wrenching away and standing passively. " _Legilimens_ ," she whispered. Her spell ripped savagely through his mind. It was not the spellcasting of an accomplished Legilimens, but rather a forceful, desperate attempt that would surely leave him with a throbbing headache. He resisted the urge to throw her out, but instead grit his teeth against his instincts. He wasn't prepared, but managed to scramble together some memories for her to see. The tidal wave of emotions had him reeling, but he bore the intensity of her attack for the sake of sating her curiosity.

Seconds later, she pulled out of his mind just as brutally as she'd entered it. A short bark of laughter breaking the air. "He loves her." Her eyes sought Remus'. "Can you believe it?"

Harry bristled, baring his teeth and grabbing his head.

Something in her eyes suggested she could hardly believe it herself. What was it with the people of this world who couldn't see him as anything _but evil_? It was incredibly frustrating, especially when he'd proven he wasn't lying under truth serum _and_ Legilimency, to say nothing of all he'd kept hidden. His temper flared hotly, and he had to remind himself to keep it in check. He was only feeling what Draco and other turncoats had felt when they'd decided to change sides—except ten times worse.

Remus face was grim. "You needn't have done that," he chided her. "It's taxing on you and the boy."

Lily didn't seem to hear him, her jaw set cruelly. She skewered Harry with her emerald green gaze and he blatantly stared back, hoping it unsettled her to see herself in him.

"Must be a Potter affliction." She gave a careless shrug. "Courting _Muggle-borns_." Her face twisted in a sneer. "An obsession passed down from your father, no doubt."

Adrenaline pounded at his temples, causing his breath to quicken. "You couldn't be more wrong," he retorted frostily. "What Hermione and I have has nothing to do with you and… _my father._ "

"What Hermione and you have," she taunted, "is _nothing._ I've been in her mind. Oh, yes. She wants nothing to do with you."

Harry bit his cheek to keep from snarling at the woman. The notion of Lily doing that hack of a Legilimency job on Hermione made his stomach roil. Still, he realized with defeat that his mother might not be lying. He'd only just started teaching Hermione Occlumency. Chances were even an unaccomplished Legilimens like Lily could breach her barriers—especially if Hermione let her. He knew fully well Lily's taunt was at least honest.

"That's enough," Remus spoke softly, but his voice demanded action. "It was a very brave thing for Harry to do what he did. He deserves a chance to prove himself. There's no use pushing him away."

"I disagree." Lily's hands fell to her hips. "If that's all it takes for _Dear Harry_ to be 'pushed away' than that's answer enough he isn't cut for the Order."

Beside him, he caught Neville nodding in his periphery.

"It's no glamorous life, I assure you." Lily appraised him, stopping when she noticed the crusted blood on the arm of his shirt, reminding Harry of the injuries he'd sustained.

His neck throbbed painfully where Bellatrix's curse grazed him. There'd been no time for healing after their mad dash to get away.

"Susan," his mother called, "see to his injuries. Then," her eyes snapped to Neville, "show him where he'll be sleeping." She glanced back at Harry. "You'll be bunking with Neville."

It went unsaid that Neville was to keep an eye on him. The threat was very clear. They'd accepted Harry's story for now, but they didn't fully trust him.

"What's happened to Sirius… to Draco and Pansy?" Harry's voice was wary with an edge of urgency.

He felt Remus step up behind him and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "They're fine and you will see them eventually."

Lily snorted. "Black is a little worse for wear."

Harry frowned and his magic sizzled hotly. Lily merely smirked, seemingly proud of herself.

Remus gave him a light squeeze. "Sirius is… resilient. As for your friends—they've been attended to and taken to their barracks."

Harry wondered at the implication of Remus' words. It would seem Draco and Pansy had had a lot easier time of it than he himself had, or Sirius for that matter. But then of course that made sense—he was the evil one. He only just held back a disparaging laugh.

"Can I see her?" His eyes roamed from each captor or accomplice, he wasn't sure, beseechingly. "Hermione?"

"Soon enough," Remus finally answered.

He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Hermione was safe, and she was here somewhere in this massive fortress. She'd incredibly found her way here with no one to guide her. He wondered if she'd passed their test yet. Whomever couldn't see how pure of heart she was was blind.

Susan walked up to him and prodded him lightly on his side. "Come on." Her eyes held a degree of mistrust and curiosity. "Let's get you fixed up."

Harry nodded and followed dutifully behind. He couldn't resist throwing a backwards glance at Remus and Lily who stood watching them. "I won't disappoint you," he promised them.

"See that you don't," Lily warned.

Harry was herded into a large room he took to be the Order's Healing Center, if the cots were any indication. A wide range of potions lined the walls resting on crude, rock shelves. He marveled at how many there were—it was a treasure trove.

"More room shuffling?" Susan looked up to Neville, and Harry thought he saw longing in her eyes.

Neville didn't appear to notice, preoccupied with watching Harry. "We have to accommodate our unexpected guests."

Harry resented the implication that they were infringing. He wanted to tell them that they might be thanking him soon enough when he's given a chance to prove his worth on a mission, but chose to stay silent. Actions would prove louder than words, after all. Susan nudged him to take a seat and remove his bloodied shirt. He did so, not without grimacing, but barely paid any heed to the wounds he had incurred. She stilled at first, her eyes taking on a new sheen as she saw for herself the evidence of what he'd been through. Even Neville had seemed to drop his ever present frown and stare openly at him.

Feeling edgy, he took a deep breath and tried to center himself. He badly wanted to see Sirius, Draco, Pansy, and of course Hermione. His nerves would be in a frenzy until he saw for himself that they were okay, but there was nothing to be done about it now. It would take a mission or two to really gain trust, and until then he'd have to play by their rules.

Brought out of his thoughts by a particularly painful reaction between the skin of his neck and the potion Susan rubbed into it, he twisted his head around to see the damage for himself. The swelling had gone down, leaving an angry redness in its wake.

"Merlin, Susan," Harry couldn't help but to praise her, "you're a regular Madam Pomfrey with this healing business."

Susan paused in her task, eyes searching him for any kind of dishonesty. Harry wondered just what all his counterself had done to these people in school to make them hate him so. When she was satisfied he didn't seem to be having one over on her, she graced him with a small smile.

"I've always wanted to be a Healer," she confided, conjuring strips of gauze to lay on the reddened skin. "I used to shadow Pomfrey, third year on." She shifted her attention to the wounds on his arm. "You really did a number on yourself, didn't

you? How'd you get these?"

Harry answered readily, still likely under the influence over the Veritaserum he'd been dosed with. "A parting gift from Greyback."

Neville made a sound of surprise from his position guarding the doorway. "Can't imagine _you_ wanting to get your hands dirty with a werewolf. I bet he did a number on you."

"It's alright," Harry said, smiling smugly as he recalled the skirmish. "Sirius gave him far worse."

Neville arched his brow and seemed to be debating whether or not to probe further. His curiosity won. "Did you really storm right into the Manor and pluck out those prisoners, just as bold as you please? How did you get past the wards?"

Harry shrugged. "The wards fell while I was duelling Bellatrix—we exchanged some nasty spells. And we didn't sneak through unnoticed, we were caught and taken to the dungeons ourselves. We did manage to sneak out."

Susan's eyes widened. "How?"

"A house elf and an Invisibility Cloak."

"Remarkable story." Neville twirled his wand absently. "Seems you were rather lucky."

Harry had to agree. "Yeah, luck was definitely on our side."

Susan cleaned and rubbed a paste on the wounds inflicted by Greyback's claws, before sealing them up with her wand and wrapping his arm in more clean bandages.

"Did the Ministry really show up? Percy Weasley and the twins with them?" Susan wanted to know.

"I noticed the twins," Harry paused to consider, "I'm not sure who was all there with them, but we didn't stay long. When Riddle came and Sirius and I conjured this sort of explosion then hightailed it out of there. It didn't last long."

Neville started. "You fought Riddle?"

"Not really," Harry tried to explain. "We just sort of reacted. The spell bought us some time and then we ran for it. If they'd closed in on us we wouldn't be here, that's for sure."

"Luna was hurt when she got here," Susan said, tying the last of the knots. "Told us all you and your godfather saved them." She pulled back and pursed her lips. "I admit—it was hard for any of us to believe. You were so different in school."

"Harry Potter would never stick his neck out for anyone," Neville added.

Harry swallowed against the guilt that welled in his throat. "I was a prat—I know it. For what it's worth—I _am_ sorry."

They said nothing, and they didn't need to. He would put his Galleons where his mouth was soon enough.

A scuffle could be heard in the hall, and then shouting. Harry's head snapped to the doorway, fingers itching for his wand. Neville was already on high alert, straightening and dropping in a defensive stance. He peered out the door, and then visibly relaxed.

Neville shook his head. "Granger."

Harry's heart seized in his chest and he sat up taller, craning his neck to see around the corner.

"You're not supposed to be here." Neville looked indecisive for a moment, like he might block the doorway, but he stepped aside at the last moment.

"Just try stopping her," a voice that sounded a lot like Cho's called from the hall. "She's one headstrong witch."

The footsteps sounded closer and then Hermione herself rounded the corner, coming to an abrupt halt as soon as her eyes landed on him.

Harry couldn't find his breath.

His eyes drank her in greedily, assessing her for any signs of distress or injury.

"Hermione," he breathed, wanting nothing more than to go to her and sweep her up in his embrace.

The wariness he saw in her eyes coupled with their unwelcome audience stopped him.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and swallowed hard. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the honey brown eyes that haunted his dreams as well as his every waking moment.

"You're hurt," she finally said, eyes dropping to the gauze covering his neck and arm.

Gooseflesh spread across his chest and he was reminded he was shirtless. She glanced away, and made to step further into the room, but Neville stopped her, reaching out an arm to grab hold of her wrist.

Harry's eyes blazed with barely suppressed fury.

"We don't know if we can trust him," he told her in a low voice. "He isn't one of us."

She furrowed her brows and wrenched her arm away. "Let go of me," she demanded. "Harry won't hurt anyone here." She brought her gaze back to him. "Will you, Harry?"

His voice came out hoarse. "No." He shook his head, never taking his eyes off of her. "What do I need to do to become one of you?" The question was directed at Neville, even though he didn't look his way. He couldn't, not when he'd been deprived of her presence for so long it hurt. "I'll do it. Whatever I need to."

Harry hadn't been able to get a read on her, but now her expression was faintly hopeful.

"That so?"

Harry didn't recognize the voice. His eyes snapped up to see Terry Boot, flanking Cho in the doorway.

His fellow schoolmate lifted his brow challengingly. "Will you take our Mark, then?"

Harry frowned, the word _Mark_ causing fear to flash through his mind as he remembered other marks people had taken to prove their loyalty. His eyes scanned first Susan, then Neville, then Cho and Terry's arms—but they were all wearing long sleeves. Feeling panicked, his gaze settled on Hermione and he noted the way she was cradling her own arm. She wore green cargo pants that were much too big for her, and a grey shirt with several snags and holes revealing a white shirt underneath it. The grey shirt was rolled to her elbows. She slowly dropped her arm and a flash of cerulean blue caught his eye.

Frozen in shock, he could do nothing but gape at the Mark emblazoned on her once-smooth flesh. It was a blue phoenix—the symbol of the Order—and it shifted and twisted under his attention, taking up a large expanse of her forearm.

"Potter can't _just take_ our Mark," Neville's voice only barely broke through the fog and confusion of Harry's mind. "He has to earn it."

**~oOo*oOo~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta! [LeanaM](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7034259/LeanaM)


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